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BOOK     1  73.H72    c.  1 

HOLLAND    #    TITCOMBS    LETTERS    TO 

YOUNG    PEOPLE    SINGLE    AND    MARRIED 

3    T1S3    DD0b3DS2    7 


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TITCOMB'S  LETTERS 


DR.  J.  G.  HOLLAND'S  WRITINGS. 


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TITCOMB'S     LETTERS      rt 


YOUNG   PEOPLE 


SINGLE   AND    MARRIED 


BY 

TIMOTHY  TITCOMB,  Esquire 


FIFTIETH   EDITION 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
1894 


Copyright  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER 

1858 


Copyright  by 
J.  G.  HOLLAND 

1881 


Copyright  by 

ELIZABETH   L.  HOLLAND 

1886 


TROW  DIRECTORY 

PRINTING  AND   BOOKBINDING  COMPANY 

NEW   YORK 


PREFACE. 


AFTER  twenty  years  of  an  exceptionally  pros- 
perous life,  this  book  has  been  carefully 
revised,  and  is  now  issued  in  a  new  dress.  Since 
it  was  written,  and  was  so  generously  received 
by  the  public,  twenty  millions  of  people  have 
been  added  to  the  population  of  the  country, 
and  a  new  generation  of  young  men  and  women 
have  taken  the  places  of  its  first  patrons  and 
readers,  so  that  the  book  has  nearlv  as  fresh  a 
field  as  it  had  at  its  original  appearance. 

I  have  taken  almost  a  pathetic  interest  in 
going  over  these  pages.  Their  earnestness,  di- 
rectness, frankness,  hopefulness,  and  high  pur- 
pose, speak  to  me  of  a  time  when  life  was 
unchilled  by  experience,  and  enthusiasm  was 
unblunted  by  contact  and  conflict  with  the  vari- 
ous forms  and  forces  of   evil.     I    am  painfully 


VI  Preface. 

conscious  that  if  I  had  not  written  this,  book 
when  I  did,  I  could  not  write  it  to-day.  There 
are  some  books  tliat  age  can  write  best,  Ijut  I 
am  sin-e  that  they  are  not  books  for  the  young. 
Truth,  health,  enthusiasm,  and  a  positive  frame 
of  mind,  with  youthful  hopes  and  sympathies 
still  alive  and  active,  are  necessary  for  the  writing 
of  books  that  shall  be  influential  upon  the  youth- 
ful mind  and  heart ;  and  I  can  see  no  reason  why 
this  book  may  not  go  on  doing  the  good  it  has 
had  the  credit  of  doing  during  all  its  history. 

The  man  who  revises  these  letters  is  so  differ- 
ent from  the  man  who  wrote  them,  that  I  am 
sure  I  have  no  vanity  in  saying  that  they  seem 
to  me,  in  reference  to  the  purpose  for  which  they 
were  written,  to  form  a  wise  and  inspiring  book. 
As  such  I  commend  it  to  all  the  young  who  have 
faith  in  my  instincts  and  confidence  in  my  judg- 
ment. 

THE  AUTHOR. 

New  York,  April,  1881. 


CONTENTS, 


LETTERS   TO    YOUNG  MEN, 

PAG8 

LETTER   I. 
Getting  the  Right  Start ,      i 

LETTER   II. 
Female  Society— The  Woman  for  a  Wife,         .        .     lo 

LETTER   III. 
Manners  and  Dress ,    19 

LETTER   IV. 
Bad  Habits, 25 

LETTER  V. 
The  Blessings  of  Poverty— Office  and  Effect  of 
A  Profession, 32 

LETTER  VL 
Food  and  Physical  Culture,    ......    40 

LETTER   VII. 
Social  Duties  and  Privileges ^^8 

LETTER  Vin. 
The  Reasonableness  and  Desirableness  of  Religion,     56 


viii  Contents 


LETTERS  TO    YOUNG    WOMEN, 


LETTER  I. 
Dress— Its  Proprieties  and  Abuses,       ,       .        .       ,    6g 

LETTER   II. 
The  Transition  from  Girlhood  to  Womanhood,      .    ^^ 

LETTER  III. 
Acquisitions  and  Accomplishments,       .       .       «       .    85 

LETTER  IV. 

Unreasonable  and  Injurious  Restraints,    .       .        .95 

LETTER  V. 
The  Claims  of  Love  and  Lucre,     .        >       ,        .        ,.104 

LETTER  VI. 
The  Prudent  and  Proper  Use  of  Language,     .        ,  113 

LETTER  VII. 
Housewifery  and  Industry,      ,..,,.  122 

LETTER  VIII. 
The  Beauty  and  Blessedness  of  Female  Piety,        .  132 


Contents.  isv 


LETTERS   TO    YOUNG  MARRIED  PEOPLE. 

PAGE 

LETTER  I. 

The    First    Essential    Duties    of    the    Connubial 
Relation 145 

LETTER   n. 
Special  Duties  of  the  Husband, 155 

LETTER   in. 
Special  Duties  of  the  Wife, 165 

LETTER   IV. 
The  Rearing  of  Children,        ......  174 

LETTER  V. 

Separation — Family  Relatives— Servants,  .        .        .183 

LETTER  VI. 
The  Institution  of  Home, 193 

LETTER  VII. 
Social  Homes,  and  Blessings  for  Daily  Use,    .        ,  aci, 

LETTER  VIIL 
A  Vision  of  Life  and  its  Meaning,        .        .        .        .  2i5» 


LETTERS    TO    YOUNG   MEN. 


LETTER   I. 

GETTING    THE  RIGHT  START. 

In  idle  wishes  fools  supinely  stay. 

Be  there  a  will,  then  wisdom  finds  a  way. 

—Burns. 

1  SUPPOSE  that  the  first  great  lesson  a  young  man 
should  learn  is  that  he  knows  nothing  ;  and  that  the 
earlier  and  more  thoroughly  this  lesson  is  learned,  the 
better  it  will  be  for  his  peace  of  mind  and  his  success  in 
life.  A  young  man,  bred  at  home,  and  growing  up  in 
the  light  of  parental  admiration  and  fraternal  pride, 
cannot  readily  understand  how  it  is  that  every  one  else 
can  be  his  equal  in  talent  and  acquisition.  If,  bred  in 
the  country,  he  seeks  the  life  of  the  town,  he  will  very 
early  obtain  an  idea  of  his  insignificance.  After  putting 
on  airs  and  getting  severely  laughed  at,  going  into  a 
bright  and  facile  society  and  finding  himself  awkward 
and  tongue-tied,  undertaking  to  speak  in  some  pubhc 


2  Tit  comb' s  Letters. 

place  and  breaking  down,  and  paying  his  addresses  to 
some  gentle  charmer  and  receiving  for  his  amiable  con- 
descension a  mitten  of  inconvenient  dimensions,  he  will 
be  apt  to  sit  down  in  a  state  "  bordering  on  distraction," 
to  reason  about  it. 

This  is  a  critical  period  in  his  history.  The  result 
of  his  reasoning  will  decide  his  fate.  If,  at  this  time, 
he  thoroughly  comprehend,  and  in  his  soul  admit  and 
accept  the  fact,  that  he  knows  nothing  and  is  nothing ; 
if  he  bow  to  the  conviction  that  his  mind  and  his  person 
are  but  ciphers  among  the  significant  and  cleanly  cut 
figures  about  him,  and  that  whatever  he  is  to  be,  and 
is  to  win,  must  be  achieved  by  hard  work,  there  is  abun- 
dant hope  of  him.  If,  on  the  contrary,  a  huge  self- 
conceit  still  hold  possession  of  him,  and  he  straighten 
stiffly  up  to  the  assertion  of  his  old  and  valueless  self; 
or  if  he  sink  discouraged  upon  the  threshold  of  a  life 
of  fierce  competitions  and  more  manly  emulations,  he 
might  as  well  be  a  dead  man.  The  world  has  no  use 
for  such  a  man,  and  he  has  only  to  retire  or  be  trodden 
upon. 

When  a  young  man  has  thoroughly  comprehended 
the  fact  that  he  knows  nothing,  and  that,  intrinsically, 
he  is  of  but  little  value,  the  next  thing  for  him  to  learn 
is  that  the  world  cares  nothing  for  him  ; — that  he  is 
the  subject  of  no  man's  overwhelming  admiration  and 
esteem ;  that  he  must  take  care  of  himself.  A  letter 
of  introduction  may  possibly  procure  him  an  invitation 


Getting  the  Right  Start.  3 

to  tea.  If  he  wear  a  good  hat,  and  tie  his  cravat  w'tn 
propriety,  the  sexton  will  show  him  to  a  pleasant  seat  in 
church,  and  expect  him  to  contribute  liberally  when  the 
plate  goes  round.  If  he  be  a  stranger,  he  will  find  every 
man  busy  with  his  own  affairs,  and  none  to  look  after 
him.  He  will  not  be  noticed  until  he  becomes  notice- 
able, and  he  will  not  become  noticeable  until  he  does 
something  to  prove  that  he  has  an  absolute  value  in  so- 
ciety. No  letter  of  recommendation  will  give  him  this, 
or  ought  to  give  him  this.  No  family  connection  will 
give  him  this,  except  among  those  few  who  think  more 
of  blood  than  brains. 

Society  demands  that  a  young  man  shall  be  some- 
body, not  only,  but  that  he  shall  prove  his  right  to  the 
title  ;  and  it  has  a  right  to  demand  this.  Society  will 
not  take  this  matter  upon  trust — at  least,  not  for  a  long 
time,  for  it  has  been  cheated  too  frequently.  Society  is 
not  very  particular  what  a  man  does,  so  that  it  proves 
him  to  be  a  man  :  then  it  will  bow  to  him,  and  make 
room  for  him.  I  know  a  young  man  who  made  a  place 
for  himself  by  writing  an  article  for  the  North  American 
Review  :  nobody  read  the  article,  so  far  as  I  know,  but 
the  fact  that  he  wrote  such  an  article,  that  it  was  very 
long,  and  that  it  was  published,  did  the  business  for 
him.  Everybody,  however,  cannot  write  articles  for  the 
North  American  Review — at  least,  I  hope  everybody 
will  not,  for  it  is  a  publication  which  makes  me  a 
quarterly  visit ;  but   everybody,  who  is  somebody,  can 


4  Tit  comb's  Letters. 

do  something.  There  is  a  wide  range  of  effort  between 
holding  a  skein  of  silk  for  a  lady  and  saving  her  from 
drowning — between  collecting  voters  on  election  day 
and  teaching  a  Sunday  School  class.  A  man  must  enter 
society  of  his  own  free  will,  as  an  active  element  or  a 
valuable  component,  before  he  can  receive  the  recogni- 
tion that  every  true  man  longs  for.  I  take  it  that  this 
is  right.  A  man  who  is  willing  to  enter  society  as  a 
beneficiary  is  mean,  and  does  not  deserve  recognition. 

There  is  no  surer  sign  of  an  unmanly  and  cowardly 
spirit  than  a  vague  desire  for  help  ;  a  wish  to  depend, 
to  lean  upon  somebody,  and  enjoy  the  fruits  of  the  in- 
dustry of  others.  There  are  multitudes  of  young  men, 
I  suppose,  who  indulge  in  dreams  of  help  from  some 
quarter,  coming  in  at  a  convenient  moment,  to  enable 
them  to  secure  the  success  in  life  which  they  covet. 
The  vision  haunts  them  of  some  benevolent  old  gentle- 
man with  a  pocket  full  of  money,  a  trunk  full  of  mort- 
gages and  stocks,  and  a  mind  remarkably  appreciative 
of  merit  and  genius,  who  will,  perhaps,  give  or  lend 
them  anywhere  from  ten  to  twenty  thousand  dollars, 
with  which  they  will  commence  and  go  on  swimmingly. 
Perhaps  he  will  take  a  different  turn,  and  educate  them. 
Or,  perhaps,  with  an  eye  to  the  sacred  profession,  they 
desire  to  become  the  beneficiaries  of  some  benevolent 
society,  or  some  gentle  circle  of  female  devotees. 

To  me,  one  of  the  most  disgusting  sights  in  the  world 
is  that  of  a  young  man  with  healthy  blood,  broad  shoul- 


Getting  the  Right  Start.  5 

ders,  presentable  calves,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds, 
more  or  less,  of  good  bone  and  muscle,  standing  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  longing  for  help.  I  admit  that 
there  are  positions  in  which  the  most  independent  spirit 
may  accept  of  assistance — may,  in  fact,  as  a  choice  of 
evils,  desire  it ;  but  for  a  man  who  is  able  to  help  him- 
self, to  desire  the  help  of  others  in  the  accomplishment 
of  his  plans  of  life,  is  positive  proof  that  he  has  re- 
ceived a  most  unfortunate  training,  or  that  there  is  a 
leaven  of  meanness  in  his  composition  that  should  make 
him  shudder.  Do  not  misunderstand  me  :  I  would  not 
inculcate  that  pride  of  personal  independence  which 
repels  in  its  sensitiveness  the  well-meant  good  offices 
and  benefactions  of  friends,  or  that  resorts  to  desperate 
shifts  rather  than  incur  an  obligation.  What  I  con- 
demn in  a  young  man  is  the  love  of  dependence  ;  the 
willingness  to  be  under  obligation  for  that  which  his  own 
efforts  may  win. 

I  have  often  thought  that  the  Education  Society,  and 
kindred  organizations,  do  much  more  harm  than  good 
by  inviting  into  the  Christian  ministry  a  class  of  young 
men  who  are  willing  to  be  helped.  A  man  who  wil- 
lingly receives  assistance,  especially  if  he  has  applied 
for  it,  invariably  sells  himself  to  his  benefactor,  unless 
that  benefactor  happen  to  be  a  man  of  sense  who  is  giv- 
ing absolutely  necessary  assistance  to  one  whom  he 
knows  to  be  sensitive  and  honorable.  Any  young  man 
who    will    part   with    freedom  and  the  self-respect  tha^ 


6  Titcotnb's  Letters. 

grows  out  of  self-reliance  and  self-support,  is  unmanly, 
neither  deserving  of  assistance,  nor  capable  of  making 
good  use  of  it.  Assistance  will  invariably  be  received 
by  a  young  man  of  spirit  as  a  dire  necessity — as  the 
chief  evil  of  his  poverty. 

When,  therefore,  a  young  man  has  ascertained  and 
fully  received  the  fact  that  he  does  not  know  anything, 
that  the  world  does  not  care  anything  about  him,  that 
what  he  wins  must  be  won  by  his  own  brain  and  brawn, 
and  that  while  he  holds  in  his  own  hands  the  means 
of  gaining  his  livelihood  and  the  objects  of  his  life, 
he  cannot  receive  assistance  without  compromising  his 
self-respect  and  selling  his  freedom,  he  is  in  a  fair  posi- 
tion for  beginning  life.  When  a  young  man  becomes 
aware  that  only  by  his  own  efforts  can  he  rise  into  com- 
panionship and  competition  with  the  sharp,  strong,  and 
well-drilled  minds  around  him,  he  is  ready  for  work, 
and  not  before. 

The  next  lesser^  is  that  of  patience,  thoroughness  of 
preparation,  and  contentment  with  the  regular  channels 
of  business  effort  and  enterprise.  This  is,  perhaps,  one 
of  the  most  difficult  to  learn,  of  all  the  lessons  of  life. 
It  is  natural  for  the  mind  to  reach  out  eagerly  for  im- 
mediate results.  As  manhood  dawns,  and  the  young 
man  catches  in  its  first  light  the  pinnacles  of  realized 
dreams,  the  golden  domes  of  high  possibilities,  and  the 
purpling  hills  of  great  delights,  and  then  looks  down 
upon    the   narrow,  sinuous,    long,   and   dusty   path   by 


Gettmg  the  Right  Start.  7 

which  others  have  reached  them,  he  is  apt  to  be  dis 
gusted  with  the  passage,  and  to  seek  for  success  through 
broader  channels,  by  quicker  means.  Beginning  at  the 
very  foot  of  the  hill,  and  working  slowly  to  the  top,  seems  a 
very  discouraging  process ;  and  precisely  at  this  point  have 
thousands  of  young  men  made  shipwreck  of  their  lives. 

Let  this  be  understood,  then,  at  starting  ;  that  the 
patient  conquest  of  difficulties  which  rise  in  the  regular 
and  legitimate  channels  of  business  and  enterprise,  is 
not  only  essential  in  securing  the  successes  which  you 
seek,  but  it  is  essential  to  that  preparation  of  your  mind 
which  is  requisite  for  the  enjoyment  of  your  successes, 
and  for  retaining  them  when  gained.  It  is  the  general 
rule  of  Providence,  the  world  over,  and  in  all  time,  that 
unearned  success  is  a  curse.  It  is  the  rule  of  Provi- 
dence, that  the  process  of  earning  success  shall  be  the 
preparation  for  its  conservation  and  enjoyment.  So, 
day  by  day,  and  week  by  week  ;  so,  month  after  month, 
and  year  after  year,  work  on,  and  in  that  process  gain 
strength  and  symmetry,  and  nerve  and  knowledge,  that 
when  success,  patiently  and  bravely  worked  for,  shall 
come,  it  may  find  you  prepared  to  receive  it  and  keep 
it.  The  development  which  you  will  get  in  this  brave 
and  patient  labor,  will  prove  itself,  in  the  end,  the  most 
•-aluable  of  your  successes.  It  will  help  to  make  a  man 
of  you.  It  will  give  you  power  and  self-reliance.  It 
will  give  you  not  only  self-respect,  but  the  respect  qI 
your  fellows  and  the  public. 


8  Titcomb's  Letters. 

Never  allow  yourself  to  be  seduced  from  this  course. 
You  will  hear  of  young  men  who  have  made  fortunes  in 
some  wild  speculations.  Pity  them  ;  for  they  will  al- 
most certainly  lose  their  easily  won  success.  Do  not  be 
in  a  hurry  for  anything.  Are  you  in  love  with  some 
dear  girl,  whom  you  would  make  your  wife  ?  Give 
Angelina  Matilda  to  understand  that  she  must  wait  f 
and  if  Angelina  Matilda  is  really  the  good  girl  you  take 
her  to  be,  she  will  be  sensible  enough  to  tell  you  to 
choose  your  time.  You  cannot  build  well  without  first 
laying  a  good  foundation  ;  and  for  you  to  enter  upon  a 
business  which  you  have  not  patiently  and  thoroughly 
learned,  and  to  marry  before  you  have  won  a  character, 
or  even  the  reasonable  prospect  of  a  competence,  is 
ultimately  to  bring  your  house  down  about  the  ears  of 
Angelina  Matilda,  and  such  pretty  children  as  she  may 
give  you.  If,  at  the  age  of  thirty  years,  you  find  your- 
self established  in  a  business  which  pays  you  with  cer- 
tainty a  living  income,  you  are  to  remember  that  God 
has  blessed  you  beyond  the  majority  of  men. 

In  saying  what  I  have  said  to  you  in  this  letter, 
I  have  had  no  wish  to  make  of  you  pattern  young  men, 
but  of  this  I  will  speak  more  fully  hereafter.  The  fash- 
ion plates  of  the  magazines  bear  no  striking  resem- 
blance to  the  humanity  which  we  meet  in  the  streets. 
I  only  seek  to  give  you  the  principles  and  the  spirit 
which  should  animate  you,  without  any  attempt  or  de- 
sire to  set  before  you  the  outlines  of  the  life   I  would 


Getting  the  Right  Start.  9 

have  you  lead.  In  fact,  if  there  are  detestable  things 
which  I  despise  above  all  other  things  detestable,  they 
are  the  patterns  made  for  young  men,  and  the  young 
men  made  after  them.  I  would  have  you  carry  all  your 
individuality  with  you,  all  your  blood  well  purified,  all 
your  passions  well  controlled  and  made  tributary  to  the 
motive  forces  of  your  nature  ;  all  your  manhood  en- 
larged, ennobled,  and  uncorrupted  ;  all  your  piety,  ren- 
dering your  whole  being  sensitively  alive  to  your  rela- 
tions to  God  and  man  ;  all  your  honor,  your  affections, 
and  your  faculties — all  these,  and  still  hold  yourselves 
strictly  amenable  to  those  laws  which  confine  a  true 
success  to  the  strong  and  constant  hand  of  patient 
achievement. 


LETTER   II. 

FEMALE  SOCIETY— THE   WOMAN  FOR  A   WIFE. 

O  woman  !    lovely  woman  !     Nature  made  thee 

To  temper  man  ;    we  had  been  brutes  without  you. 
Angels  are  painted  fair  to  look  like  you. 

— Otway. 

When  I  said   I  would  die  a  bachelor,  I  did  not  think  that  I  should  live 
till  I  were  married.  — Shakspere. 

IN  many  of  the  books  addressed  to  young  men,  a  great 
deal  is  said  about  the  purifying  and  elevating  influ- 
ences of  female  society.  Sentimental  young  men  affect 
this  kind  of  reading,  and  if  anywhere  in  it  they  can  find 
countenance  for  the  policy  of  early  marriage,  they  are 
delighted.  Now,  while  I  will  be  the  last  to  deny  the 
purifying  and  elevating  influence  of  pure  and  elevated 
vvomen,  I  do  deny  that  there  is  anything  in  indiscrim- 
inate devotion  to  female  society,  which  makes  a  man 
better  or  purer.  Suppose  a  man  cast  away  on  the  Can- 
nibal Islands,  and  not  in  sufficiently  good  flesh  to  excite 
the  appetites  of  the  gentle  epicureans  among  whom  he 
has  fallen.  Suppose  him,  in  fact,  to  be  "  received  into 
society,"  and  made  the  private  secretary  of  a  king  with- 


Female  Society — TJie  Woman  for  a  Wife,    ii 

out  a  liberal  education.  Suppose,  after  awhile,  he  feels 
himself  subsiding  into  a  state  of  barbarism,  and  casts 
around  for  some  redeeming  or  conservative  influence. 
At  this  moment  it  occurs  to  him  that  in  the  trunk  on 
which  he  sailed  ashore  was  a  number  of  books.  He 
flies  to  the  trunk,  and,  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight,  discovers 
that  among  them  is  a  volume  addressed  to  young  men. 
He  opens  it  eagerly,  and  finds  the  writer  to  declare  that 
next  to  the  Christian  religion,  there  is  nothing  that  will 
tend  so  strongly  to  the  elevation  and  purification  of 
young  men,  as  female  society.  He  accordingly  seeks 
the  society  of  women,  and  drinks  in  the  marvellous  in- 
fluences of  their  presence.  He  finds  them  unacquainted 
with  some  of  the  most  grateful  uses  of  water,  and  in  evi- 
dent ignorance  of  the  existence  of  ivory  combs.  About 
what  year  of  the  popular  era  is  it  to  be  supposed  that 
he  will  arrive  at  a  desirable  state  of  purification  and 
perfection  ? 

Now,  perhaps  you  do  not  perceive  the  force  of  this 
illustration.  Let  us  get  at  it,  then.  When  you  find 
yourself  shut  out  from  all  female  society  except  that 
which  is  beneath  you,  that  society  will  do  you  just  as 
much  as,  and  no  more  good  than,  that  of  the  fair  canni- 
bals, especially  if  it  be  young.  If,  in  all  this  society, 
you  can  find  one  old  woman  of  sixty,  who  has  common 
sense,  genial  good-nature,  experience,  some  reading, 
and  a  sympathetic  heart;,  cherish  her  as  you  would  her 
weight  in  gold,  but  let  the  young  trash   go.     You  will 


12  TitcomFs  Letters. 

hear  nothing  from  them  but  gossip  and  nousense,  and 
you  will  only  get  disgusted  with  the  world  and  yourself. 
Inspiration  to  higher  and  purer  life  always  comes  from 
above  a  man  ;  and  female  society  can  only  elevate  and 
purify  a  man  when  it  is  higher  and  purer  than  he  is.  In 
thr  -element  of  purity,  I  doubt  not  that  women  generally 
are  superior  to  men,  but  it  is  very  largely  a  negative  or 
unconscious  element,  and  has  not  the  power  and  influ- 
ence of  a  positive  virtue. 

Therefore,  whenever  you  seek  for  female  society,  as 
an  agency  in  the  elevation  of  your  tastes,  the  preserva- 
tion of  your  morals,  and  the  improvement  of  your  mind, 
seek  for  that  which  is  above  you.  I  do  not  counsel  you 
to  treat  with  rudeness  or  studied  neglect  such  inferior 
female  society  as  you  are  obliged  to  come  in  contact 
with.  On  the  contrary,  you  owe  such  society  a  duty. 
You  should  stimulate  it,  infuse  new  life  into  it,  if  possi- 
ble, and  do  for  it  what  you  would  have  female  society 
do  for  yourself. 

This  matter  of  seeking  female  society  aL^re  yourself 
you  should  carry  still  further.  Never  content  yourself 
with  the  idea  of  having  a  common-place  wife.  You 
want  one  who  will  stimulate  you,  stir  you  up,  keep  you 
moving,  show  you  your  weak  points,  and  make  some- 
thing of  you.  Don't  fear  that  you  cannot  get  such  a 
wife.  I  very  well  remember  the  reply  which  a  gentle- 
man who  happened  to  combine  the  qualities  of  wit  and 
common  sense,  made  to  a  young  man  who  expressed  a 


Female  Society — The  Woman  for  a  Wife.    13 

fear  that  a  certain  young  lady  of  great  beauty  and  at- 
tainments would  dismiss  him,  if  he  should  become 
serious,  '"''  My  friend,"  said  the  wit,  '*  infinitely  more 
beautiful  and  accomplished  women  than  she  is,  have 
married  infinitely  uglier  and  meaner  men  than  you  are." 
And  such  is  the  fact.  If  you  are  honest  and  honorable, 
if  your  character  is  spotless,  if  you  are  enterprising  and 
industrious,  if  you  have  some  grace  and  a  fair  degree  of 
sense,  "and  if  you  love  appreciatingly  and  truly,  you  can 
marry  almost  anybody  worth  your  having.  So,  to  en- 
courage yourself,  carry  in  your  memory  the  above 
aphorism  reduced  to  a  form  something  like  this  :  ''  In- 
finitely finer  women  than  I  ever  expect  to  marry,  have 
loved  and  married  men  infinitely  meaner  than  I  am." 

The  apprehensions  of  women  are  finer  and  quicker 
than  those  of  men.  With  equal  early  advantages,  the 
woman  is  more  of  a  woman  at  eighteen  than  a  man  is  a 
man  at  twenty -one.  After  marriage,  as  a  general  thing, 
the  woman  ceases  to  acquire.  Now,  I  do  not  say  that 
this  is  necessary,  or  that  it  should  be  the  case,  but  I 
simply  state  a  general  fact.  The  woman  is  absorbed  in 
family  cares,  or  perhaps  devotes  from  ten  to  twenty 
years  to  the  bearing  and  rearing  of  children — the  most 
dignified,  delightful,  and  honorable  office  of  her  life. 
This  consumes  her  time,  and,  in  a  great  multitude  of 
instances,  deprives  her  of  intellectual  culture. 

In  the  meantime,  the  man  is  out,  engaged  in  business. 
He  comes    in    daily  contact  with    minds    stronger    and 


14  Tttcomb's  Letter's. 

sharper  than  his  own.  He  grows  and  matures,  and  in 
ten  years  from  the  date  of  his  marriage,  becomes,  in 
reahty,  a  new  man.  Now,  if  he  was  so  fooHsh  as  to 
marry  a  woman  because  she  had  a  pretty  form  and  face, 
or  sweet  eyes,  or  an  amialjle  disposition,  or  a  pleasant 
temper,  or  wealth,  he  will  find  that  he  has  passed  en- 
tirely by  his  wife,  and  that  she  is  really  no  more  of 
a  companion  for  him  than  a  child  would  l)e.  1  know  of 
but  few  sadder  sights  in  this  world  than  that  of  mates 
whom  the  passage  of  years  has  mis-mated.  A  woman 
ought  to  have  a  long  start  of  a  man,  and  then,  ten  to 
one,  the  man  will  come  out  ahead  in  the  race  of  a  long 
hfe. 

I  suppose  that  in  every  young  man's  mind  there  exists 
the  hope  and  the  expectation  of  marriage.  When  a 
young  man  pretends  to  me  that  he  has  no  wish  to 
marry,  and  that  he  never  expects  to  marry,  I  always 
infer  one  of  two  things  :  tliat  he  lies,  and  is  really  very 
anxious  for  marriage,  or  that  his  heart  has  been  pol- 
luted by  association  with  unworthy  women.  In  a  thou- 
sand cases  we  shall  not  find  three  exceptions  to  this 
rule.  A  young  man  who,  with  any  degree  of  earnest- 
ness, declares  that  he  intends  never  to  marry,  confesses 
to  a  brutal  nature  or  perverted  morals. 

But  how  shall  a  good  wife  be  won  ?  I  know  that  men 
naturally  shrink  from  the  attemi)t  to  obtain  companions 
who  are  their  superiors  ;  Ijut  they  will  find  that  really 
intelligent  women,  who  possess  the  most  desirable  qual- 


Female  Society — TJie  Woman  for  a  Wife.    15 

ities,  arc  uniformly  modest,  and  hold  their  charms  in 
modest  estimation.  What  such  women  most  admire 
in  men  is  gallantry  ;  not  the  gallantry  of  courts  and 
fops,  but  boldness,  courage,  devotion,  decision,  and 
refined  civility.  A  man's  bearing  wins  ten  superior 
women  where  his  boots  and  brains  win  one.  If  a  man 
stand  before  a  woman  with  respect  for  himself  and  fear- 
lessness of  her,  his  suit  is  halt  won.  The  rest  may 
safely  be  left  to  the  parties  most  interested.  Therefore, 
never  be  afraid  of  a  woman.  Women  are  the  most 
harmless  and  agreeable  creatures  in  the  world,  to  a  man 
who  shows  that  he  has  got  a  man's  soul  in  him.  If  you 
have  not  the  spirit  in  you  to  come  up  to  a  test  like 
this,  you  ha\e  not  that  in  you  which  most  pleases  a 
high-soulcd  woman,  and  you  will  be  obliged  to  content 
yourself  with  the  simple  girl  who,  in  a  quiet  way,  is  en- 
deavoring to  attract  and  fasten  you. 

But  don't  be  in  a  hurry  about  the  matter.  Don't  get 
into  a  feverish  longing  for  marriage.  It  isn't  creditable 
to  you.  Especially  don't  imagine  that  any  disappoint- 
ment in  love  which  takes  place  before  you  are  twenty- 
one  years  old  will  be  of  any  material  damage  to  you. 
The  truth  is,  that  before  a  man  is  twenty-five  years  old 
he  docs  not  know  what  he  wants  himself.  So  don't  be 
in  a  hurry.  The  more  of  a  man  you  become,  and  the 
more  of  manliness  you  become  capable  of  exhibiting  in 
your  association  with  women,  the  better  wife  you  will  be 
able  to  obtain  ;  and  one  year's  possession  of  the  heart 


1 6  TitcomU's  Letters. 

akd  hand  of  a  really  noble  specimen  of  her  sex  is  worth 
nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  years'  possession  of  a 
sweet  creature  with  two  ideas  in  her  head,  and  nothing 
new  to  say  about  either  of  them.  "  Better  fifty  years 
of  Europe  than  a  cycle  of  Cathay."  So  don't  be  in  a 
hurry,  I  say  again.  You  don't  want  a  wife  now,  and  you 
have  not  the  slightest  idea  of  the  kind  of  wife  you  will 
want  by-and-by.  Go  into  female  society  if  you  can  find 
that  which  will  improve  you,  but  not  otherwise.  You 
can  spend  your  time  better.  Seek  the  society  of  good 
men.  That  is  often  more  accessible  to  you  than  the 
other,  and  it  is  through  that  mostly  that  you  will  find 
your  way  to  good  female  society. 

If  any  are  disposed  to  complain  of  the  injustice  to 
woman  of  advice  like  this,  and  believe  that  it  involves  a 
wrong  to  her,  I  reply  that  not  the  slightest  wrong  is  in- 
tended. Thorough  appreciation  of  a  good  woman,  on 
the  part  of  a  young  man,  is  one  of  his  strongest  recom- 
mendations to  her  favor.  The  desire  of  such  a  man  to 
possess  and  associate  his  life  with  such  a  woman,  gives 
evidence  of  qualities,  aptitudes,  and  capacities  which 
entitle  him  to  any  woman's  consideration.  There  is 
something  good  in  him  ;  and  however  uncultivated  he 
may  be — however  rude  in  manner,  and  rough  in  person 
— he  only  needs  development  to  become  worthy  of  her, 
in  some  respects,  at  least.  I  shall  not  quarrel  with  a 
woman  who  desires  a  husband  superior  to  herself,  for  I 
know  it  will  be  well  for  her  to  obtain  such  an  one.  if  she 


Female  Society — The  Woman  for  a  Wife.    \J 

will  be  stimulated  by  contact  with  a  higher  mind  to  a 
brighter  and  broader  development.  At  the  same  time, 
i  must  believe  that  for  a  man  to  marry  his  inferior,  is 
to  call  upon  himself  a  great  misfortune  ;  to  deprive  him- 
self of  one  of  the  most  elevating  and  refining  influences 
which  can  possibly  affect  him.  I  therefore  believe  it  to 
be  the  true  policy  of  every  young  man  to  aim  high  in 
his  choice  of  a  companion.  I  have  previously  given  a 
reason  for  this  policy,  and  both  that  and  this  conspire 
to  establish  the  soundness  of  my  counsel. 

One  thing  more  :  not  the  least  important,  but  the 
last  in  this  letter.  No  woman  without  piety  in  her 
heart  is  fit  to  be  the  companion  of  any  man.  You  may 
get,  in  your  wife,  beauty,  amiability,  sprightliness,  w^it, 
accomplishments,  wealth,  and  learning,  but  if  that  wife 
have  no  higher  love  than  herself  and  yourself,  she  is 
a  poor  creature.  She  cannot  elevate  you  above  mean 
aims  and  objects,  she  cannot  educate  her  children  prop- 
erly, she  cannot  in  hours  of  adversity  sustain  and  com- 
fort you,  she  cannot  bear  with  patience  your  petulance 
induced  by  the  toils  and  vexations  of  business,  and  she 
will  never  be  safe  against  the  seductive  temptations  of 
gaiety  and  dress. 

Then,  again,  a  man  who  has  the  prayers  of  a  pious 
wife,  and  knows  that  he  has  them — upheld  by  heaven, 
or  by  a  refined  sense  of  obligation  and  gratitude — can 
rarely  become  a  very  bad  man.  A  daily  prayer  from 
the  heart  of  a  pure  and  pious  wife,  for  a  husband  en- 


1 8  Tit  comb'' s  Letters. 

grossed  in  the  pursuits  of  wealth  or  fame,  is  a  chain  of 
golden  words  that  links  his  name  every  day  with  the 
name  of  God.  He  may  snap  it  three  hundred  and 
sixty-five  times  in  a  year,  for  many  years,  but  the 
chances  are  that  in  time  he  will  gather  the  sundered 
filaments,  and  seek  to  re-unite  them  in  an  everlasting 
bond.  , 


LETTER  III. 

MANNERS  AND  DRESS. 

So  over  violent,  or  over  civil, 

That  every  man  with  him  was  God  or  devil 

— Dryden. 

Costly  thy  habit  as  thy  purse  can  buy, 

But  not  expressed  in  fancy  ;    rich  not  gaudy  ; 
For  the  apparel  oft  proclaims  the  man. 

— Shaksperk. 

IT  is  well  for  young  men  to  obtain,  at  the  very  start 
of  their  career,  some  idea  of  the  value  of  politeness. 
Some  cannot  be  otherwise  than  polite.  They  are  born 
so.  One  can  kick  them  roundly  and  soundly,  and  they 
will  not  refuse  to  smile,  if  it  be  done  good-naturedly. 
They  dodge  all  corners  by  a  necessity  of  their  nature. 
If  their  souls  had  only  corporeal  volume,  we  could  see 
them  making  their  way  through  a  crowd,  like  nice  little 
spaniels,  scaring  nobody,  running  between  nobody's 
legs,  but  winding  along  shrinkingly  and  gracefully,  see- 
ing a  master  in  every  man,  and  thus  flattering  every 
man's  vanity  into  good-nature,  but  really  spoiling  their 
reputation  as   reliable   dogs,  by  their  undiscriminating 


20  Titcojnfs  Letters. 

and  universal  complaisance.  There  is  a  self-forgetful- 
ness  which  is  so  deep  as  to  be  below  self-respect,  and 
such  instances  as  we  occasionally  meet  with  should  be 
treated  compassionately,  like  cases  of  idiocy  or  insanity, 
except  when  found  in  connection  with  the  post-office 
department  or  among  hotel  waiters. 

But  puppyism  is  not  really  politeness.  The  genuine 
article  is  as  necessary  to  success,  and  particularly  to  an 
enjoyable  success,  as  integrity,  or  industry,  or  any  other 
indispensable  thing.  All  machinery  ruins  itself  by  fric- 
tion, without  the  presence  of  a  lubricating  fluid.  Polite 
ness,  or  civility,  or  urbanity,  or  whatever  we  may  choose 
to  call  it,  is  the  oil  which  preserves  the  machinery  of 
society  from  destruction.  We  are  obliged  to  bend  to 
one  another — to  step  aside  and  let  another  pass,  to 
ignore  this  and  that  personal  peculiarity,  to  speak  pleas- 
antly when  irritated,  and  to  do  a  great  many  things  to 
avoid  abrasion  and  collision.  In  other  words,  in  a  world 
of  selfish  interests  and  pursuits,  where  every  man  is  pur- 
suing his  own  special  good,  we  must  mask  our  real  de- 
signs in  studied  politeness,  or  mingle  them  with  real 
kindness,  in  order  to  elevate  the  society  of  men  above 
the  society  of  wolves.  Young  men  generally  would 
doubtless  be  thoroughly  astonished  if  they  could  com- 
prehend at  a  single  glance  how  greatly  their  persona] 
happiness,  popularity,  prosperity,  and  usefulness  depend 
on  their  manners. 

I   know  young   men  who,    in   the   discharge  of  their 


Manners  and  Dress.  2i 

duties,  imagine  that  if  they  go  through  them  with  a 
literal  performance,  they  are  doing  all  that  they  under- 
take to  do.  You  will  never  see  a  smile  upon  their  faces, 
nor  hear  a  genial  word  of  good  fellowship  from  their 
lips  ;  and  from  the  manner  in  which  their  labor  is  per- 
formed you  would  never  learn  that  they  were  engaged 
in  intercourse  with  human  beings.  They  carry  the 
same  manner  and  the  same  spirit  into  the  counting-room 
that  they  do  into  the  dog-kennel  or  the  stable.  Every- 
body hates  such  young  men  as  these,  and  recoils  from 
all  contact  with  them.  If  they  have  business  with  them, 
they  close  it  as  soon  as  possible,  and  get  out  of  their 
presence.  A  man  who,  having  got  his  vessel  under 
headway  on  the  voyage  of  life,  takes  a  straight  course, 
minding  nothing  for  the  man-of-war  that  lies  in  his  path, 
or  the  sloop  that  crosses  his  bow,  or  the  fishing  smacks 
that  find  game  where  he  seeks  nothing  but  a  passage, 
or  interposing  rocks  or  islands,  will  be  very  sure  to  get 
terribly  rubbed  before  he  gets  through. 

I  despise  servility,  but  true  and  uniform  politeness  is 
the  glory  of  any  young  man.  It  should  be  a  politeness 
full  of  frankness  and  good-nature,  unobtrusive  and  con- 
stant, and  uniform  in  its  exhibition  to  every  class  of 
men.  The  young  man  who  is  overwhelmingly  polite  to 
a  celebrity  or  a  nabob,  and  rude  to  a  poor  Irishman  be- 
cause he  is  a  poor  Irishman,  deserves  to  be  despised 
That  style  of  manners  which  combines  self-respect  with 
respect  for  the  rights  and  feelings  of  others,  especially 


22  Titcomb^s  Letters. 

if  it  be  warmed  up  by  the  fires  of  a  genial  heart,  is  a 
thing  to  be  coveted  and  cultivated,  and  it  is  a  thing  that 
pays,  alike  in  cash  and  comfort. 

The  talk  of  manners  introduces  us  naturally  to  dress 
and  personal  appearance.  I  believe  in  dress.  I  believe 
that  it  is  the  duty  of  all  men — young  and  old — to  make 
their  persons,  so  far  as  practicable  or  possible,  agreeable 
to  those  with  whom  they  are  thrown  into  association. 
I  mean  by  this  that  they  shall  not  offend  by  singularity, 
nor  by  slovenliness ;  that  they  shall  '^  make  a  con- 
science "  of  clean  boots  and  finger-nails,  frequently 
change  their  linen,  and  not  show  themselves  in  shirt- 
sleeves if  they  can  help  it.  Let  no  man  know  by  your 
dress  what  your  business  is.  You  dress  your  person, 
not  your  trade.  You  are,  if  you  know  enough,  to  mould 
the  fashion  of  the  time  to  your  own  personal  peculiar- 
ities— to  make  it  your  servant,  and  not  allow  it  to  be 
your  master.  Never  dress  in  extremes.  Let  there  al- 
ways be  a  hint  in  your  dress  that  you  know  the  style, 
but,  for  the  best  of  reasons,  disregard  its  more  extreme 
demands.  The  best  possible  impression  that  you  can 
make  by  your  dress  is  to  make  no  separate  impression 
at  all ;  but  so  to  harmonize  its  material  and  shape  with 
your  personality,  that  it  becomes  tributary  in  the  gen- 
eral effect,  and  so  exclusively  tributary  that  people  can- 
not tell  after  seeing  you  what  kind  of  clothes  you  wear. 
They  will  only  remember  that  you  look  well,  and  some 
how  dress  becomingly. 


Marnier s  atid  Dress.  23 

I  suppose  that  I  shall  be  met  here  with  a  protest  from 
employers^  and  a  kind  of  protest  from  the  employed. 
(Counsel  to  dress  well  is  dangerous,  is  it  ?  But  every- 
body now  dresses  extravagantly  ;  and,  as  extravagant 
dressing  is  usually  very  far  from  good  dressing,  I  think 
that  the  danger  of  exciting  greater  extravagance  is  very 
small.  It  may  be  descending  into  pretty  small  particu- 
lars, but  it  is  proper  to  say  that  some  men  can  dress 
better  on  fifty  dollars  a  year  than  others  can  on  one 
hundred,  and  for  reasons  which  it  is  my  duty  to  dis- 
close. There  was  something  in  the  doctrine  of  the  loafer 
who  maintained  that  ''extremes  justify  the  means," 
illustrating  his  proposition  by  wearing  faultless  hat  and 
boots  and  leaving  the  rest  of  his  person  in  rags  ;  but  he 
had  not  touched  the  real  philosophy  of  the  matter. 

There  is  on  every  man  what  may  be  called  a  dress- 
centre — a  point  from  which  the  rest  of  the  dress  should 
be  developed  or  unfolded.  A  faultless  cravat  or  neck- 
tie, supporting  an  immaculate  and  stylish  shirt-collar, 
is,  perhaps,  as  good  a  "  dress-centre"  as  can  be  chosen 
or  adopted.  Outside  of  this,  there  should  not  be  a  no- 
ticeable feature  of  the  dress  except  that  it  is  harmonious 
and  unobtrusive.  A  neck  always  well  dressed  will  atone 
almost  for  negligence  in  every  other  department  of  per- 
sonal drapery.  The  main  thing  is  to  take  some  small 
point  of  dress  and  make  the  most  of  it,  and  then  bring 
everything  else  into  modest  subordination  to  it. 

One  sees  this  kind  of  thing  in  travelling,     We  meet 


24  TitcomFs  Letters. 

multitudes  from  all  quarters  and  of  different  national- 
ities. One,  and  he  is  usually  a  Yankee,  wears  the  best 
of  broadcloth,  and  the  costliest  of  coats,  and  looks  vul- 
gar ;  while  another  with  a  single  stamp  of  good  taste 
upon  him,  at  some  central  point,  is  a  gentleman  at  half 
price.  Rich  clothes  are  really  a  sign  of  mental  poverty. 
Let  the  secret  of  good  dressing  be  thoroughly  learned, 
and  we  shall  hear  comparatively  little  of  the  cost  of 
dress.  Let  each  young  man  choose  his  central  idea, 
plant  it  and  develop  it ;  and  if  he  has  good  common 
sense  he  will  find  that  he  can  dress  better  than  he  ever 
could  before,  with  the  expenditure  of  half  the  money  it 
has  usually  cost  him. 


LETTER   IV. 

BAD   HABITS. 

There's  nothing  ill  can  dwell  in  such  a  temple : 
If  the  ill  spirit  have  so  fair  a  house 
Good  things  will  strive  to  dwell  with't. 

— ShakspekE: 

He  that  has  light  within  his  own  clear  breast 
May  sit  i'  the  centre  and  enjoy  bright  day  ; 
But  he  that  hides  a  dark  soul  and  foul  thoughts, 
Benighted  walks  under  the  mid-day  sun. 

— Milton. 

IT  is  entirely  natural  for  people  to  form  habits,  so  that 
if  bad  habits  be  avoided,  the  good  ones  will  gene- 
rally take  care  of  themselves.  I  had  no  intention  when 
I  commenced  these  letters  of  saying  anything  upon  dog- 
matic theology,  but  I  take  the  liberty  of  suggesting  to 
those  w^ho  are  interested  in  this  kind  of  thing  that  if 
there  be  anything  that  demonstrates  total  depravity,  it 
is  the  readiness  with  which  young  men  imbibe  bad 
habits.  I  have  seen  original  sin  in  the  shape  of  "  a 
short  six  "  sticking  out  of  the  mouth  of  a  lad  of  ten 
years.     It  is   strange   what    particular    pains   boys  and 


26  Tit  comb's  Letters. 

young  men  will  take  to  learn  to  do  that  which  will  make 
them  miserable,  ruin  their  health,  render  them  disgust- 
ing to  their  friends,  and  damage  their  reputation. 

Some  of  the  fashionable  bad  habits  of  the  day  are 
connected  with  the  use  of  tobacco.  Here  is  a  drug  that 
a  young  man  is  obliged  to  become  accustomed  to  before 
he  can  tolerate  either  the  taste  or  the  effect  of  it.  It  is 
a  rank  vegetable  poison  ;  and  in  the  unaccustomed  ani- 
mal produces  vertigo,  faintness,  and  horrible  sickness. 
Yet  young  men  persevere  in  the  use  of  it  until  they  can 
endure  it,  and  then  until  they  love  it.  They  go  about 
the  streets  with  cigars  in  their  mouths,  or  into  society 
with  breath  sufficiently  offensive  to  drive  all  unper- 
verted  nostrils  before  them.  They  chew  tobacco — roll 
up  huge  wads  of  the  vile  drug,  and  stuff  their  cheeks 
with  them.  They  ejaculate  their  saliva  upon  the  side- 
walk, in  the  store,  in  spittoons  which  become  incorporate 
stenches,  in  dark  corners  of  railroad  cars  to  stain  the 
white  skirts  of  unsuspecting  women,  in  lecture-rooms 
and  churches,  upon  fences,  and  into  stoves  that  hiss 
with  anger  at  the  insult.  And  the  quids  after  they  are 
ejected  !  They  are  to  be  found  in  odd  corners,  in  out- 
of-the-way  places — great  boulders,  boluses,  bulbs ! 
Horses  stumble  over  them,  dogs  bark  at  them  ;  they 
poison  young  shade-trees,  and  break  down  the  constitu- 
tions of  sweepers.  This  may  be  an  exaggeration  of  the 
facts,  but  not  of  the  disgust  with  which  one  writes  or 
them. 


Bad  Habits.  27 

Now,  young  men,  just  think  of  this  thing  !  You  are 
born  into  the  world  with  a  sweet  breath.  At  a  proper 
^to^j  you  acquire  a  good  set  of  teeth.  Why  will  you 
make  of  one  a  putrescent  exhalation,  and  of  the  other  a 
set  of  yellow  pegs  ?  A  proper  description  of  the  habit 
of  chewing  tobacco  would  exhaust  the  filthy  adjectives 
of  the  language,  and  spoil  the  adjectives  themselves  for 
further  use  ;  and  yet,  you  will  acquire  the  habit,  and 
persist  in  it  after  it  is  acquired  !  It  is  very  singular  that 
young  men  will  adopt  a  habit  of  which  every  man  who 
is  its  victim  is  ashamed.  There  is,  probably,  no  to- 
bacco-chewer  in  the  world  who  would  advise  a  young 
man  to  commence  this  habit.  I  have  never  seen  a  slave 
of  tobacco  who  did  not  regret  his  bondage  ;  yet,  against 
all  advice,  against  nausea  and  disgust,  against  cleanli- 
ness, against  every  consideration  of  health  and  comfort, 
thousands  every  year  bow  the  neck  to  this  drug,  and 
consent  to  w^ear  its  repulsive  yoke.  They  will  chew  it ; 
they  will  smoke  it  in  cigars  and  pipes  until  their  bed- 
rooms and  shops  cannot  be  breathed  in,  and  until  their 
breath  is  as  rank  as  the  breath  of  a  foul  beast,  and  their 
clothes  have  the  odor  of  the  sewer.  Some  of  them  take 
snuff;  cram  the  fiery  weed  up  their  nostrils  to  irritate 
that  subtle  sense  which  rarest  flowers  were  made  to  feed 
— in  all  this  working  against  God,  abusing  nature,  per- 
v^erting  sense,  injuring  health,  planting  the  seeds  of  dis- 
ease, and  insulting  the  decencies  of  life  and  the  noses  of 
the  world. 


28  TitcomF s  'Letters. 

So  much  for  the  nature  of  the  habit  ;  and  I  would 
stop  here,  but  for  the  fact  that  I  am  in  earnest,  and 
wish  to  present  every  motive  in  my  power  to  prevent 
young  men  from  forming  the  habit,  or  persuade  them  to 
abandon  it.  The  habit  of  using  tobacco  is  expensive. 
A  clerk  on  a  modest  salary  has  no  right  to  be  seen 
with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth.  Three  cigars  a  day,  at  five 
cents  apiece,  amount  to  more  than  fifty  dollars  a  year. 
Can  you  afford  it  ?  You  know  you  cannot.  You  know 
that  to  do  this  you  will  either  be  compelled  to  run  in 
debt  or  steal.  Therefore  I  say  that  you  have  no  busi- 
ness to  be  seen  with  a  cigar  in  your  mouth.  It  is  pre- 
sumptive evidence  against  your  moral  character. 

Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  what  you  are,  what  you  are 
made  for,  whither  you  are  going  ?  That  beautiful  body 
of  yours,  in  whose  construction  infinite  wisdom  ex- 
hausted the  resources  of  its  ingenuity,  is  the  temple  of  a 
soul  that  shall  live  forever,  a  companion  of  angels,  a 
searcher  into  the  deep  things  of  God,  a  being  allied  in 
essence  to  the  divine.  I  say  the  body  is  the  temple,  or 
the  tabernacle,  of  such  a  being  as  this  ;  and  what  do 
you  think  of  stuffing  the  front  door  of  such  a  building 
full  of  the  most  disgusting  weeds  that  you  can  find,  or 
setting  a  slow  match  to  it,  or  filling  the  c4iimneys  with 
snuff?  It  looks  to  me  much  like  an  endeavor  to  smoke 
out  the  tenant,  or  to  insult  him  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
induce  him  to  quit  the  premises.  You  really  ought  to 
be    ashamed    of    such    behavior.     A    clean    mouth,    ? 


Bad  Habits.  29 

sweet  breath,  unstained  teeth,  and  inoffensive  clothing, 
— are  not  these  treasures  worth  preserving  ?  Then 
throw  away  tobacco,  and  all  thoughts  of  it,  at  once  and 
forever.  Be  a  man.  Be  decent,  and  be  thankful  to  me 
for  talking  so  plainly  to  you. 

But  there  are  other  bad  habits  besides  the  use  of  to- 
bacco. There  is  the  habit  of  using  sirong  drink,— not 
the  habit  of  getting  drunk,  with  most  young  men,  but 
the  habit  of  taking  drink  occasionally  in  its  milder  forms 
— of  playing  with  a  small  appetite  that  only  needs  suffi- 
cient playing  with  to  make  you  a  demon  or  a  dolt. 
You  think  you  are  safe.  I  know  you  are  not  safe,  if  you 
drink  at  all ;  and  when  you  get  offended  with  the  good 
friends  who  warn  you  of  your  danger,  you  are  a  fool.  I 
know  that  the  grave  swallows  daily,  by  scores,  drunk- 
ards, every  one  of  whom  thought  he  was  safe  while 
he  was  forming  his  appetite.  But  this  is  old  talk.  A 
young  man  in  this  age  who  forms  the  habit  of  drinking, 
or  puts  himself  in  danger  of  forming  the  habit,  is  usually 
so  weak  that  it  doesn't  pay  to  save  him. 

I  pass  by  profanity.  That  is  too  offensive  and  vulgar 
a  habit  for  any  man  who  reads  a  respectable  book  to 
indulge  in.  I  pass  by  this,  1  say  ;  to  come  to  a  habit 
more  destructive  than  any  I  have  contemplated. 

Young  man !  you  who  are  so  modest  in  the  presence 
of  women, — so  polite  and  amiable  ;  you  who  are  invited 
into  families  where  there  are  pure  and  virtuous  girls  ; 
you  who  go  to  church,  and  seem  to  be  such  a  pattern 


30  Tit  CO  nib' s  Letters. 

young  man  ;  you  who  very  possibly  neither  smoke,  noi 
chew,  nor  snuff,  nor  swear,  nor  drink — you  have  one 
habit  ten  times  worse  than  all  these  put  together, — a 
habit  that  makes  you  a  whited  sepulchre,  fair  without, 
but  within  full  of  dead  men's  bones  and  all  uncleanness. 
You  have  a  habit  of  impure  thought,  that  poisons  the 
very  springs  of  your  life.  It  may  lead  you  into  lawless 
indulgences,  or  it  may  not.  So  far  as  your  character  is 
concerned,  it  makes  little  difference.  A  young  man 
who  cherishes  impure  images,  and  indulges  in  impure 
conversations  with  his  associates,  is  poisoned.  There  is 
rottenness  in  him.  He  is  not  to  be  trusted.  Hundreds 
of  thousands  of  men  are  living  in  unhappiness  and 
degradation  to-day  who  owe  their  unhappy  liv^es  to  an 
early  habit  of  impure  thought.  To  a  young  man  who 
has  become  poisoned  in  this  way,  women  all  appear  to 
be  vicious  or  weak  ;  and  when  a  young  man  loses  his  re- 
spect for  the  sex  made  sacred  by  the  relations  of  mother 
and  sister,  he  stands  upon  the  crumbling  edge  of  ruin. 
His  sensibilities  are  killed,  and  his  moral  nature  almost 
beyond  the  reach  of  regeneration.  I  believe  it  to  be 
true  that  a  man  who  has  lost  his  belief  in  woman  has,  as 
a  general  thing,  lost  his  faith  in  God. 

The  only  proper  way  to  treat  such  a  habit  as  this  is 
to  fly  from  it — discard  it — expel  it — fight  it  to  the  death. 
Impure  thought  is  a  moral  drug  quite  as  seductive  and 
poisonous  to  the  soul  as  tobacco  is  to  the  body.  It 
perverts  the  tone  of  every  fibre  of  the  soul.     One  should 


Bad  Habits.  3^ 

have  more  respect  for  his  body  than  to  make  it  the 
abode  of  toads  and  Hzards  and  unclean  reptiles  of  all 
sorts.  The  whole  matter  resolves  itself  into  this  :  A 
young  man  is  not  fit  for  life  until  he  is  clean — clean  and 
healthy,  body  and  soul,  with  no  tobacco  in  his  mouth,  no 
liquor  in  his  stomach,  no  oath  on  his  tongue,  no  snuff  in 
his  nose,  and  no  thought  in  his  heart  which  if  exposed 
would  send  him  sneaking  into  darkness  from  the  pres- 
ence of  good  women.  I  know  a  man  who  believes  that 
the  regeneration  of  the  world  is  to  be  brought  about  by 
a  change  of  diet.  If  he  will  add  the  policy  of  utter 
cleanliness  to  his  scheme,  I  will  agree  not  to  quarrel 
with  him. 


LETTER   V. 

THE  BLESSINGS  OF  POVERTY— OFFICE  AND  EB 
FECT  OF  A   PROFESSION, 

The  labor  we  delight  in  physics  pain. 

— Shakspere. 

Worth  makes  the  man,  and  want  of  it  the  fellow; 
The  rest  is  ail  but  leather  and  prunello. 

— Pope. 

IF  there  is  anything  in  the  world  that  a  young  man 
should  be  more  grateful  for  than  another,  it  is  the 
poverty  which  necessitates  starting  life  under  very  great 
disadvantages.  Poverty  is  one  of  the  best  tests  of  hu- 
man quality  in  existence.  A  triumph  over  it  is  like 
graduating  with  honor  from  West  Point.  It  demon- 
strates stuff  and  stamina.  It  is  a  certificate  of  worthy 
labor,  faithfully  performed.  A  young  man  who  cannot 
stand  this  test  is  not  good  for  anything.  He  can  never 
rise  above  a  drudge  or  a  pauper.  A  young  man  who 
cannot  feel  his  will  harden  as  the  yoke  of  poverty 
presses  upon  him,  and  his  pluck  rise  with  every  diffi- 
culty that  poverty  throws  in  his  way,  may  as  well  retire 
into  some  corner,  and  hide  himself.     Poverty  saves  a 


The  Blessings  of  Poverty.  33 

thousand  times  more  men  than  it  ruins,  for  it  only  ruins 
those  who  are  not  particularly  worth  saving,  while  it 
saves  multitudes  of  those  whom  wealth  would  have 
ruined.  If  any  young  man  who  reads  this  letter  is  so 
unfortunate  as  to  be  rich,  I  give  him  my  pity.  I  pity 
you,  my  rich  young  friend,  because  you  are  in  danger. 
You  lack  one  great  stimulus  to  effort  and  excellence 
which  your  poor  companion  possesses.  You  will  be 
very  apt,  if  you  have  a  soft  spot  in  your  head,  to  think 
yourself  above  him,  and  that  sort  of  thing  makes  you 
mean,  and  injures  you.  With  full  pockets  and  full 
stomach,  and  good  linen  and  broadcloth  on  your  back, 
your  heart  and  soul  will  get  plethoric,  and  in  the  race 
of  life  you  will  find  yourself  surpassed  by  all  the  poor 
boys  around  you,  before  you  know  it. 

No,  my  boy,  if  you  are  poor,  thank  God  and  take 
courage  ;  for  he  intends  to  give  you  a  chance  to  make 
something  of  yourself.  If  you  had  plenty  of  money, 
ten  chances  to  one  it  would  spoil  you  for  all  useful  pur- 
poses. Do  you  lack  education  ?  Have  you  been  cut 
short  in  the  text  books  ?  Remember  that  education, 
like  some  other  things,  does  not  consist  in  the  multitude 
of  things  a  man  possesses.  What  can  you  do  ?  That  is 
the  question  that  settles  the  business  for  you.  Do  you 
know  your  business  ?  Do  you  know  men,  and  how  to 
deal  with  them  ?  Has  your  mind,  by  any  means  what- 
soever, received  that  discipline  which  gives  to  its  action 
power  and  facility?     If  so,  then  you  are  more  of  a  man, 


34  TitconiV s  Letters. 

and  a  thousand  times  better  educated,  than  the  fellow 
who  graduates  from  a  college  with  his  brains  full  ol 
stuff  that  he  cannot  apply  to  the  practical  business  of 
life — stuff  the  acquisition  of  which  has  been  in  no  sense 
a  disciplinary  process,  so  far  as  he  is  concerned.  There 
are  very  few  men  in  this  world  less  than  thirty  years  o't 
age,  and  unmarried,  who  can  afford  to  be  rich.  One  of 
the  greatest  benefits  to  be  reaped  from  great  financial 
disasters,  is  the  saving  of  a  large  crop  of  young  men. 

In  regard  to  the  choice  of  a  profession,  that  is  your 
business,  and  not  mine,  nor  that  of  any  of  your  friends. 
If  you  take  to  a  trade  or  profession,  don't  be  persuaded 
out  of  it,  until  you  are  perfectly  satisfied  that  you  are 
not  adapted  to  it.  You  will  receive  all  sorts  of  the  most 
excellent  advice,  but  you  must  remember  that  if  you 
follow  it,  and  it  leads  you  into  a  profession  that  starves 
you,  those  who  gave  the  advice  will  never  feel  bound 
to  give  you  any  money.  You  have  got  to  take  care  o\ 
yourself  in  this  world,  and  you  may  as  well  choose  your 
own  way  of  doing  it,  always  remembering  that  it  is  not 
your  trade  or  your  profession  which  makes  you  re- 
spectable. This  leads  me  to  a  matter  that  I  may  as 
well  dispose  of  here  as  anywhere. 

I  propose  to  explain  what  I  meant  in  a  previous  letter 
by  the  counsel  to  ''  let  no  man  know  by  your  dress  what 
your  business  is.  You  dress  your  person,  not  youl 
trade."  As  the  proper  explanation  of  this  involves  a 
very  important  principle,  I  will  devote  the  rest  of  thi? 


The  Blessings  of  Poverty.  35 

better  to  its  development  and  illustration.  The  fault 
found  with  this  counsel  is  that  it  has  always  been  con- 
sidered best  to  dress  according  to  one's  business  and 
position. 

Manhood,  and  profession  or  handicraft,  are  entirely 
different  things  ;  and  I  wish  particularly  that  every 
young  man  engaged  in  reading  these  letters  should 
understand  the  reason  why.  God  makes  men,  and 
men  make  blacksmiths,  tailors,  farmers,  horse  jockeys, 
tradesmen  of  all  sorts,  governors,  judges,  &c.  The 
offices  of  men  may  be  more  or  less  important,  and  of 
higher  or  lower  quality,  but  manhood  is  a  higher  pos- 
session than  office.  An  occupation  is  never  an  end  of 
life.  It  is  an  instrument  put  into  our  hands,  or  taken 
into  our  hands,  by  which  to  gain  for  the  body  the  means 
of  living  until  sickness  or  old  age  robs  it  of  life,  and  we 
pass  on  to  the  world  for  which  this  is  a  preparation. 
However  thoroughly  acquired  and  assiduously  followed, 
a  trade  is  something  to  be  held  at  arm's  length.  I  can 
illustrate  what  I  mean  by  placing,  side  by  side,  two 
horses, —  one,  fresh  from  the  stall,  with  every  hair  in  its 
right  place,  his  head  up  and  mane  flying,  and  another 
that  has  been  worked  in  the  same  harness  every  day  for 
three  years,  until  the  skin  is  bare  on  each  hip  and  thigh, 
an  inflamed  abrasion  glows  on  each  side  of  the  back- 
bone where  the  hard  saddle-pad  rests,  a  severe  gall- 
mark  spreads  its  brown  patch  under  the  breast  collar, 
and  all  the  other  marks  of  an  abused  horse  abound 


36  Titcojnb' s  Letters. 

Now  a  trade,  or  a  profession,  will  weaf  into  a  man  as  a 
harness  wears  into  a  horse.  One  can  see  the  ''  trade 
mark  "  on  almost  every  soul  and  body  met  in  the  street. 
A  trade  has  taken  some  men  by  the  shoulders  and 
shaken  their  humanity  out  of  them.  It  has  so  warped 
the  natures  of  others  th'at  they  might  be  wet  down  and 
set  in  the  sun  to  dry  a  thousand  times  without  being 
warped  back. 

Thus,  I  say,  a  man's  trade  or  profession  should  be 
kept  at  arm's  length.  It  should  not  be  allowed  to 
tyrannize  over  him,  to  mould  him,  to  crush  him.  It 
should  not  occupy  the  whole  of  his  attention.  So  far 
from  this,  it  should  be  regarded,  in  its  material  aspect, 
at  least,  only  as  a  means  for  the  development  of  man- 
hood. The  great  object  of  living  is  the  attainment  of 
true  manhood — the  cultivation  of  every  power  of  the 
soul  and  of  every  high  spiritual  quality,  naturally  in- 
herent or  graciously  superadded.  The  trade  is  beneath 
the  man,  and  should  be  kept  there.  With  this  idea  in 
your  minds — and  you  may  be  very  sure  that  it  is  the 
correct  idea — just  look  around  you  and  see  how  almost 
everybody  has  missed  it.  You  and  I  both  know  physi- 
cians whose  mental  possessions,  beyond  their  knowledge 
of  drugs  and  diseases,  are  not  worth  anything.  We  are 
acquainted  with  lawyers  who  are  never  seen  out  of  their 
offices,  who  live  among  pigeon-holes  and  red  tape,  and 
busy  their  minds  with  quirks  and  quarrels  so  unremit 
tingly,  that  they  have  not  a  thought  for  other  subjects 


The  Blessings  of  Poverty.  37 

They  are  not  men  at  all ;  they  are  nothing  but  lawyers. 
Often  we  find  not  more  than  five  whole  men  in  a  town 
of  five  thousand  inhabitants.  Those  who  pass  for  men, 
and  who  really  do  get  married  and  have  families,  are  a 
hundred  to  one  fractional  men,  or  exclusively  machines. 

Elihu  Burritt  cultivated  the  man  that  was  in  him  until 
his  trade  and  his  blacksmith's  shop  would  not  stay  with 
him.  They  ceased  to  be  useful  to  him.  He  could  get 
a  living  in  a  way  that  was  better  for  him.  Benjamin 
Franklin  was  an  excellent  printer,  but  he  used  his  trade 
only  as  a  means.  The  development  of  his  mind  and 
his  manhood  went  on  above  it.  Printing  with  him  was 
not  an  end  of  life.  If  it  had  been,  we  should  have 
missed  his  words  of  wisdom  ;  some  one  else  would  have 
built  the  kite  that  exchanged  the  first  kiss  with  elec- 
tricity, and  less  able  men  would  have  been  set  to  do  the 
work  which  he  did  so  creditably  in  the  management  of 
his  country's  affairs.  It  is  not  necessary  that  you  be 
learned  blacksmiths  or  philosophical  and  diplomatic 
printers,  but  it  is  necessary  that  you  be  a  man  before 
your  calling,  behind  your  calling,  above  your  calling, 
outside  of  your  calling,  and  inside  of  it ;  and  that  that 
calling  modify  your  character  no  more  than  it  would 
were  it  your  neighbor's. 

If  I  have  made  my  point  plain  to  you,  you  can  readily 
see  that  I  attach  very  little  value  to  the  distinctions  in 
society  based  on  callings,  and  still  less  to  those  based 
on  office.     If  a  man  be  a  man,  let  him  thank  his  stars 


38  Tit  comb' s  Letters. 

that  he  is  not  ajustice  of  the  peace.  Of  all  the  appetites 
that  curse  young  men,  the  appetite  for  office  seems  to 
me  to  be  the  silliest  and  the  meanest.  There  is  nothing 
which  fills  me  with  greater  disgust  than  to  see  a  young 
man  eager  for  the  poor  distinction  which  office  confers. 
An  office  seeker,  for  the  sake  of  honor,  is  constitution- 
ally, necessarily,  mean.  I  have  seen  men  begin  at 
twenty-one  as  prudential  committees  in  small  school 
districts,  and  stick  to  office  until  everybody  was  sick  of 
them.  Whether  it  rained  porridge  or  potatoes,  paving 
stones  or  pearls,  their  dish  was  always  out.  They  and 
their  families  always  had  to  be  cared  for. 

Office  always  brings  obligation  and  a  certain  kind  of 
slavery.  It  brings  something  more  than  this — it  brings 
insanity.  A  young  man  who  allows  himself  to  get  a  taste 
of  it  very  rarely  recovers.  It  is  like  tobacco,  or  opium, 
or  brandy,  producing  a  morbid  appetite  ;  and  we  need 
all  through  the  nation,  a  new  society  of  reform.  There 
should  be  a  pledge  circulated,  and  everywhere  signed, 
promising  total  abstinence  from  office-seeking.  To  this 
every  young  man  should  put  his  name.  There  are 
chronic  cases  that  may  be  considered  hopeless,  but  the 
young  can  be  saved. 

Do  not  let  me  be  misunderstood  ;  I  have  spoken  of 
the  thirst  for  office  for  the  sake  of  office.  My  belief  is 
that  office  should  neither  be  sought  for  nor  lightly  re- 
fused. The  curse  of  our  country  is  that  office-seekers 
have  made  pl^ce  so  contemptible  that  good  men  will  not 


The  Blessings  of  Poverty.  39 

accept  it,  but  so  far  keep  themselves  removed  from 
politics  that  all  the  affairs  of  government  fall  into  un- 
worthy hands.  When  a  young  man  is  sought  for  to  fill 
a  responsible  place  in  public  affairs — sought  for  and 
selected  on  the  ground  of  fitness — he  should  decide 
whether  he  owes  that  duty  to  the  public,  and  perform  it 
well  if  he  does.  Office  was  properly  regarded  in  the 
"  good  old  colony  times."  Then  it  was  considered  a 
hinderance  to  business,  and  almost  or  quite  a  hardship ; 
so  much  so  that  laws  were  passed,  in  some  instances, 
compelling  men  to  accept  office,  or  pay  a  fine.  So  I 
would  have  you  to  do  your  duty  to  the  public  at  all  times, 
and  especially  in  seeing  that  office-seekers,  by  profession 
or  constant  practice,  are  crowded  from  the  track  and 
worthy  men  put  on. 


LETTER   VI. 

FOOD    AXD    PHYSICAL    CULTURE, 

Man  is  the  noblest  growth  our  realms  supply. 
And  souls  are  ripened  in  our  northern  sky. 

— Mrs.   B.A.RBArLP. 

[HAVE  noticed  that  most  writers  of  books  for  young 
men  have  a  good  deal  to  say  about  diet  and  regimen, 
and  physical  culture,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  those 
knowing  the  least  of  these  important  subjects  invariably 
being  the  most  elaborate  and  specific  in  their  treatment 
of  them.  There  have  been  some  awful  sins  committed 
in  this  business.  All  the  spare  curses  I  accumulate 
I  dedicate  to  those  white-livered,  hatchet-faced,  thin- 
blooded,  scrawny  reformers,  who  prescribe  sawdust 
puddings  and  plank  beds,  and  brief  sleep,  and  early 
walks,  and  short  commons  for  the  rising  generation.  ^ 
despise  them  ;  and  if  there  is  a  being  who  always  touches 
che  profoundest  depths  of  my  sympathy,  it  is  a  young 
man  who  has  become  a  victim  to  their  notions.  It  is  a 
hard  sight  to  see  a  young  man  with  the  pluck  all  taken 
out  of  him  by  a  meagre  diet — his  whole  nature  starved, 
degenerated,  emasculated. 


Food  and  Physical  Culture.  41 

i  propose  to  apply  a  little  common  sense  to  this  busi- 
nes;5.  If  I  have  a  likely  Durham  steer,  which  I  wish  to 
hcxV'^  grow  into  the  full  development  of  his  breed,  I  keep 
him  on  something  more  than  a  limited  quantity  of  bog 
hay.  I  do  not  stir  him  up  with  a  pitchfork  before  he 
has  his  nap  out,  and  insist  on  his  being  driven  ten  miles 
before  he  has  anything  to  eat.  I  do  not  take  pains  to 
give  him  the  meanest  bed  I  can  find  for  him.  I  know 
perfectly  well  that  that  animal  will  not  grow  up  strong 
and  sound,  fat  and  full,  the  pride  of  the  farm  and  the 
stall,  unless  I  give  him  an  abundance  of  the  best  food, 
a  clean  and  comfortable  place  to  sleep  in,  and  just  as 
long  naps  as  he  sees  fit  to  take.  The  horse,  which  in 
its  organization  more  nearly  approaches  man  than  the 
steer,  is  still  more  sensitive  to  the  influence  of  generous 
living.  How  much  pluck  and  spirit  will  a  horse  get  out 
of  a  ton  of  rye  straw  ?  The  truth  is,  that  a  good  and 
abundant  diet  is  not  only  essential  to  the  highest  physi- 
cal health  and  development  of  man,  but  it  modifies  very 
hnportantly  the  development  and  manifestation  of  the 
toul.  A  man  cannot  acquire  courage  by  feeding  on 
theories  and  milk.  An  Englishman  cannot  fight  without 
beef  in  his  belly  ;  and  no  more  can  any  of  us. 

It  may  be  objected  to  this  that  we  do.  not  wish  for  a 
great  animal  development  in  man.  I  say  we  do.  I 
declare  that  the  more  perfect  a  man  can  make  his  ani- 
mal nature  the  better.  That  animal  nature  is  the  asso- 
ciate—home— servant — of  the  soul.       If  it  be  not  v.ell 


42  Tit  comb's  Letters. 

developed,  in  all  its  organs  and  in  all  its  functions,  it 
will  neither  give  a  generous  entertainment  to  the  spirit- 
ual thing  that  dwells  in  it,  nor  serve  it  with  vigor  and 
efficiency.  If  strong  meat  nurses  your  passions,  let  it ;  it 
does  not  nurse  your  passions  any  more  than  it  nurses  all 
the  rest  of  you,  and  if  you  grow  symmetrically  where  is 
the  harm  ?  Besides,  what  would  you  be  without  pas- 
sions ?  They  are  the  impelling  forces  of  life.  A  man 
with  no  passion  is  as  useless  in  the  world  as  if  he  were 
without  brains.  He  cannot  even  acquire  the  possession 
of  virtue,  but  is  obliged  to  content  himself  with  inno- 
cence. If  God  gave  passions  to  a  man,  he  gave  them 
to  him  for  a  natural,  full  development ;  and  the  grandest 
type  of  man  we  see  is  that  in  which  we  find  fully  de- 
veloped and  thoroughly  trained  passions  ;  and  a  soul 
which  has  not  these  among  its  motive  forces  is  like  a 
sailor  out  at  sea,  in  a  boat  without  oars.  This  idea  that 
the  body  is  something  to  be  contemned,  that  its  growth 
and  development  must  necessarily  antagonize  with  the 
best  growth  and  development  of  the  soul,  is  essentially 
impious.  No  matter  where  it  started — it  is  all  wrong. 
A  perverted  and  perverting  passion  is  a  fearful  thing, 
but  a  passion  in  its  place  is  like  everything  that  God 
makes,  "  very  good." 

I  would  have  you  properly  understand  this  kind  of 
talk.  I  counsel  the  use  of  no  food  that  tends  to  the 
stimulation  of  one  portion  of  your  system  more  than 
another,  but  I  ask  you  to  remember  that  the  best  food 


Food  mid  Physical  Ctiltiire.  43 

is  3iot  too  good  for  you,  and  that,  unless  you  have  a 
perverted  appetite,  there  is  very  little  danger  of  your 
eating  too  much  of  it.  If  I  were  to  be  charged  with 
the  special  mission  of  degrading  a  nation,  in  mind  and 
body — stunting  the  form,  and  weakening  in  the  same 
proportion  the  mental  and  moral  nature — there  is  no 
way  in  which  I  could  so  readily  accomplish  my  object 
as  through  food.  No  nation  can  preserve  its  vitality, 
and  its  tendency  to  progress,  with  a  diet  of  pork  and 
potatoes.  Nothing  but  the  ccrealia  and  the  rjitninaiitia 
will  do  for  this — nothing  but  bread  and  muscle. 

I  wish  I  could  take  you  to  one  of  those  institutions 
which  will  be  found  in  nearly  every  State,  where  the 
outcast  and  pauper  children  are  gathered  for  shelter, 
care,  and  culture.  They  come  from  the  gutters,  where 
they  have  lived  on  garbage  and  cold  potatoes.  Their 
eyes  are  red  around  the  edges  and  very  weak,  their 
muscles  are  flabby,  their  skin  is  lifeless  in  color  and  in 
fact.  Their  minds  are  as  dull  as  the  minds  of  brutes, 
and  their  faces  give  the  impression  almost  of  idiotic 
stupidity.  In  six  months,  wheat  and  corn  bread  give 
them  a  new  body,  and  a  new  soul  ;  and  it  would  be 
difficult  to  find  a  brighter  set  of  faces  than  fill  those 
crowded  halls  and  illuminate  the  noisy  playgrounds. 

Therefore,  I  say  to  you,  young  men,  however  falsely 
y.ou  may  deal  with  your  back,  be  honest  with  your 
stomach.  Feed  well — as  well  as  you  can  afford  to  feed. 
Sleep  well.     If  Benjamin   Franklin  ever  originated  the 


44  TitcomFs  Letters. 

maxim,  ''  six  hours  of  sleep  for  a  man,  seven  for  a  wo- 
man, and  eight  for  a  fool,"  he  ought  uniformly  to  have 
practised  by  the  rule  of  the  last  number.  Young  man, 
if  you  are  a  student,  or  are  engaged  in  any  severe 
mental  occupation,  sleep  just  as  long  as  you  can  sleep 
soundly.  Lying  in  bed  from  laziness  is  another  thing 
entirely. 

Sleep  is  a  thing  that  bells  have  no  more  business  to 
interfere  with,  than  with  prayers  and  sermons.  God  is 
re-creating  us.  We  are  as  unconscious  as  we  were  be- 
fore we  were  born  ;  and  while  he  holds  us  there,  feed- 
ing anew  the  springs  of  life,  and  infusing  fresh  fire  into 
our  brains,  and  preparing  us  for  the  work  of  another 
day,  the  pillow  is  as  sacred  as  a  sanctuary.  If  any 
fanatic  has  made  you  believe  that  it  is  good  for  you  to 
be  violently  awakened  from  your  sleep  at  an  early  hour, 
and  to  go  out  into  the  damp,  raw  air,  morning  after 
morning,  with  your  fast  unbroken,  and  your  body  unfor- 
tified by  the  stimulus  of  food,  forget  him  and  his  coun- 
sels, and  take  the  full  measure  of  your  rest.  When  you 
get  your  breakfast  down,  take  your  exercise  if  you  have 
time,  or  wait  until  a  later  hour  in  the  day.  Just  as 
much  labor  can  be  accomplished  in  ten  hours  as  in  four- 
teen, with  more  efficiency  and  less  fatigue,  when  rest 
and  bodily  exercise  are  properly  taken. 

But  physical  culture — what  is  that  ?  A  very  impor- 
tant thing,  I  assure  you.  Some  of  you  get  this  in  your 
employments,  and  are  growing  up  with   manly   frames 


t^ood  a?td  Physical  Culture.  43 

and  strong  arms.  But  there  are  others  who  are  coming 
up  delicately,  with  spindling  shanks,  and  narrow  shoul- 
ders, and  flat  chests,  and  weak  arms — great  babies,  with 
soft  hands  and  soft  muscles,  and  not  enough  of  physical 
prowess  to  undertake  to  carry  a  disputed  point  with  the 
cook  in  the  kitchen.  How  a  woman  ever  makes  up 
her  mind  to  love  such  a  man  as  this  is  a  mystery  to 
me.  A  feminine  man  is  a  masculine  monster,  and  no 
woman  with  unperverted  instincts  can  love  and  marry 
him.  A  true  woman  loves  a  pair  of  good  strong  arms, 
fastened  to  a  pair  of  broad  shoulders,  for  they  can  de- 
fend her,  provide  for  her,  and — but  I  wander  from  my 
subject. 

Physical  culture  perfects  a  very  important  portion  of 
the  work  which  good  feeding  begins.  The  best  mate- 
rial supplied  to  the  mouth,  assimilated  by  the  process 
of  digestion,  and  carried  by  the  blood  to  the  muscles 
and  all  the  other  structures  of  the  body,  is  essential ; 
but  these  organs,  when  constructed  and  supplied,  need 
not  only  thorough  training  for  the  development  of  power 
and  the  acquisition  of  facility,  but  for  the  preservation 
of  their  harmony  and  health.  God  sets  all  the  little 
children  playing  for  this.  He  lays  the  necessity  of  play 
upon  them,  and  those  restless  little  fellows  that  are 
always  sliding,  or  skating,  or  wrestling,  or  running,  are 
all  inspired  by  a  divine  impulse.  Those  little  brothers 
of  yours  who  drive  you  half  insane  by  their  noise,  who 
will  not  sit  upon  your  knee  a  minute  without  some  fresh 


46  TitconiFs  Letters. 

twist   of   their   bodies,    are    discharging   their   primarj 
Christian  duties. 

A  new  world,  tossed  into  space  by  the  Creative  Hand, 
informed  with  its  laws  of  motion,  and  set  spinning  on  its 
axis  and  careering  around  its  orbit,  never  stops.  It  is 
only  the  boy  who  gets  lazy  as  he  grows  older.  God  puts 
him  in  motion  at  first,  and  teaches  him  to  use  every 
physical  power  he  possesses,  and  he  does  it  faithfully  at 
the  beginning.  Children  who  sit  still  do  not  live.  The 
mission  of  play  does  not  cease  with  childhood.  When 
labor  is  not  capable  of  doing  for  you  what  play  has  done, 
and  when  you  have  no  regular  task  for  your  bodily  pow- 
ers, you  are  to  play  still.  Walking  and  riding,  boxing 
and  fencing,  playing  ball,  pitching  quoits,  rowing  and 
bowling — all  these  are  as  legitimate  to  the  man  as  the 
simpler  sports  are  to  the  boy,  and  are  in  a  degree  essen- 
tial to  his  happiness  and  usefulness. 

I  should  be  unjust  to  the  age  were  I  to  omit  the  men- 
tion of  a  special  point  of  ''  physical  culture  "  which  has 
been  long  neglected.  You  find  as  you  come  into  man's 
estate,  that  hair  has  a  tendency  to  grow  upon  your  face. 
It  is  the  mark  by  which  God  meant  that  men  and  wo- 
men should  be  distinguished  from  each  other  in  the 
crowd.  That  hair  was  placed  there  in  infinite  wisdom, 
but  your  fathers  have  been  cutting  it  off  from  their  chins 
in  small  crops  for  thirty  to  fifty  years,  thus  impugning 
Nature's  policy,  wasting  precious  time,  drawing  a  great 
deal  of  good  blood,  creating  a  great  deal  of  bad,  and 


Food  ajid  Physical  Culture.  47 

trying  to  erase  from  their  faces  the  difference  which  was 
intended  to  be  maintained  between  them  and  those  of 
women.  If  you  are  a  man,  and  have  a  beard,  wear  it. 
You  know  it  was  made  to  wear.  It  is  enough  to  make  a 
man  with  a  decent  complement  of  information  and  a 
common  degree  of  sensibility  (and  a  handsome  beard) 
deny  his  kind,  to  see  these  smooth-faced  men  around 
the  streets,  and  actually  showing  themselves  in  female 
society !     Let  us  have  one  generation  of  beards  ! 


LETTER    V^II, 

rOCIAL  DUTIES  AND  PRIVILEGES. 

Say,  shall  my  little  bark  attendant  sail. 
Pursue  the  triumph  and  partake  the  gale  ? 

—Pope. 
The  primal  duties  shine  aloft  like  stars  ; 
The  charities  that  soothe,  and  heal,  and  bless. 
Are  scatter'd  at  the  feet  of  man  like  flowers. 

— Wordsworth. 

[PROPOSE  in  this  letter  to  talk  to  you  concerning 
your  relations  to  society.  Many,  and  I  may  say 
most  young  men  fail  for  many  years  to  get  hold  of  the 
idea  that  they  are  members  of  society.  They  seem  to 
suppose  that  the  social  machinery  of  the  world  is  self- 
operating.  They  cast  their  first  ballot  with  an  emotion 
of  pride,  perhaps,  but  are  sure  to  pay  their  first  tax  with 
a  groan.  They  see  political  organizations  in  active  ex- 
istence ;  the  parish,  and  the  church,  and  other  impor- 
tant bodies  that  embrace  in  some  form  of  society  all 
men,  are  successfully  operated  ;  and  yet  these  young 
men  have  no  part  or  lot  in  the  matter.  They  do  not 
think  of  giving  a  day's  time  to  society.     They  do  not 


Social  Duties  and  Privileges.  49 

think  of  giving  anything  to  society.  They  have  an  idea 
that  the  business  of  society  is  to  look  after  them ;  that 
they  are  to  be  provided  for,  that  seats  are  to  be  fur- 
nished  to  them  in  the  churches  gratis,  that  the  Lyceum 
is  to  be  kept  up  for  their  amusement — that  all  social 
movements  whatsoever  are  to  be  organized  and  operated 
without  their  aid,  or  that  they  exist  as  legitimate  ob- 
jects of  their  criticism.  This  is  the  very  stupidity  of 
selfishness.  Some  of  you  haven't  known  the  fact  until 
now,  and  are  not  very  much  to  blame.  It  is  one  of  the 
incidents  of  what  Fanny  Kemble  once  called  your  ''  age 
of  detestability." 

One  of  the  first  things  a  young  man  should  do  is  to 
see  that  he  is  acting  his  part  in  society.  The  earlier 
this  is  begun  the  better.  I  think  that  the  opponents  of 
secret  societies  in  colleges  have  failed  to  estimate  the 
benefit  which  it  must  be  to  every  member  to  be  obliged 
to  contribute  to  the  support  of  his  particular  organiza- 
tion, and  to  assume  personal  care  and  responsibility  as 
a  member.  If  these  societies  have  a  tendency  to  teach 
the  lessons  of  which  1  speak,  they  are  a  blessed  thing. 
Many  of  the  ills  of  society  originate  in  the  fact  that  its 
burdens  are  unequally  borne,  and  that  the  duties  of  in- 
dividuals to  it  are  not  discharged.  Therefore  I  say  to 
every  young  man,  begin  early  to  do  for  the  social  insti- 
tutions in  which  you  have  your  life.  If  you  have  intel- 
lect and  accomplishments,  give  them  to  the  elevation 
and  delight  of  the  circle  in  which  you  move.  If  you 
3 


50  TitcomU's  Letters. 

have  none  of  these,  show  an  accommodating  disposition 
by  attending  the  sewing  circle  and  holding  yarn  for  the 
girls.  Do  your  part,  and  be  a  man  among  men.  As- 
sume  your  portion  of  social  responsibility,  and  see  that 
you  discharge  it  well.  If  you  do  not  do  this,  then  you 
are  mean,  and  society  has  the  right  to  despise  you  just 
as  much  as  it  chooses  to  do  so.  You  are,  to  use  a  word 
more  emphatic  than  agreeable,  a  sneak,  and  have  not  a 
claim  upon  your  neighbors  for  a  single  polite  word. 

Young  men  have  all  noticed  how  easily  some  of  their 
number  get  into  society,  and  how  others  remain  out  of 
a  good  social  circle  always.  They  are  very  apt  to  think 
that  society  has  not  discharged  its  duties  to  them.  Now 
all  social  duties  are  reciprocal.  Society,  as  it  is  called, 
is  far  more  apt  to  pay  its  dues  to  the  individual  than  the 
individual  to  society.  Have  you,  young  man,  who  are 
at  home  whining  over  the  fact  that  you  cannot  get  into 
society,  done  anything  to  give  you  a  claim  to  social 
recognition  ?  Are  you  able  to  make  any  return  for  so- 
cial recognition  and  social  privileges  ?  Do  you  know 
anything  ?  What  kind  of  coin  do  you  propose  to  pay 
in  the  discharge  of  the  obligation  which  comes  upon 
you  with  social  recognition?  In  other  words,  as  a  re- 
turn for  what  you  wish  to  have  society  do  for  you,  what 
can  you  do  for  society  ?  This  is  a  very  important  ques- 
tion— more  important  to  you  than  to  society.  The 
question  is,  whether  you  will  be  a  member  of  society 
by  right,  or  by  courtesy.     If  you  have  so  mean  a  spirit 


Social  Duties  and  Privileges.  51 

as  to  be  content  to  be  a  beneficiary  of  society — to  re- 
ceive favors  and  confer  none — you  have  no  business  in 
the  society  to  which  you  aspire.  You  are  an  exacting, 
conceited  fellow. 

You  ask  me  what  society  would  have  of  you.  Any- 
thing that  you  possess  which  has  value  in  society.  So- 
ciety is  not  particular  on  this  point.  Can  you  act  in  a 
charade  ?  Can  you  dance  ?  Can  you  tell  a  story  well  ? 
Have  you  travelled,  and  have  you  a  pleasant  faculty  of 
telling  your  adventures  ?  Are  you  educated,  and  able 
to  impart  valuable  ideas  and  general  information  ?  Have 
you  vivacity  in  conversation  ?  Can  you  sing  ?  Can  you 
play  whist,  and  are  you  willing  to  assist  those  to  a  pleas- 
ant evening  who  are  not  able  to  stand  through  a.  party  ? 
Do  you  wear  a  good  coat,  and  can  you  bring  good  dress 
into  the  ornamental  department  of  society  ?  Are  you 
up  to  anything  in  the  way  of  private  theatricals  ?  If 
you  do  not  possess  a  decent  degree  of  sense  can  you 
talk  decent  nonsense  ?  Are  you  a  good  beau,  and  are 
you  willing  to  make  yourself  useful  in  waiting  on  the 
ladies  on  all  occasions  ?  Have  you  a  good  set  of  teeth, 
which  you  are  willing  to  show  whenever  the  wit  of  the 
company  gets  off  a  good  thing?  Are  you  a  true, 
straightforward,  manly  fellow,  with  whose  healthful  and 
uncorrupted  nature  it  is  good  for  society  to  come  in 
contact?  In  short,  do  you  possess  anything  of  any  so- 
cial  value  ?  If  you  do,  and  are  willing  to  impart  it, 
society  will  yield  itself  to  your  touch.     If  you  have  noth 


52  TitcomU's  Letters. 

ing,  then  society,  as  such,  owes  you  nothing.  Christian 
philanthropy  may  put  its  arm  round  you,  as  a  lonely 
young  man,  about  to  spoil  for  want  of  something,  but 
it  is  very  sad  and  humiliating  for  a  young  man  to  be 
brought  to  that.  There  are  people  who  devote  them- 
selves to  nursing  young  men,  and  doing  them  good.  If 
they  invite  you  to  tea,  go  by  all  means,  and  try  your 
hand.  If,  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  you  can  prove 
to  them  that  your  society  is  desirable,  you  have  won  a 
point.     Don't  be  patronized. 

Young  men  are  very  apt  to  get  into  a  morbid  state 
of  mind,  which  disinclines  them  to  social  intercourse. 
They  become  devoted  to  business  with  such  exclusive- 
ness,  that  all  social  intercourse  is  irksome.  They  go 
out  to  tea  as  if  they  were  going  to  jail,  and  drag  them- 
selves to  a  party  as  to  an  execution.  This  disposition 
is  thoroughly  morbid,  and  to  be  overcome  by  going 
where  you  are  invited,  always,  and  at  any  sacrifice  of 
feeling.  Don't  shrink  from  contact  with  anything  but 
bad  morals.  Men  who  affect  your  unhealthy  minds  with 
antipathy,  will  prove  themselves  very  frequently  to  be 
your  best  friends  and  most  delightful  companions.  Be- 
cause a  man  seems  uncongenial  to  you,  who  are 
squeamish  and  foolish,  you  have  no  right  to  shun  him. 
We  become  charitable  by  knowing  men.  We  learn  to 
love  those  whom  we  have  despised  by  rubbing  against 
them.  Do  you  not  remember  some  instance  of  meeting 
a  man  or  woman  at  a  watering-place  whom    you  have 


Social  Duties  and  Privileges.  53 

never  previously  known  or  cared  to  know — an  individ- 
ual, perhaps,  against  whom  you  have  entertained  the 
strongest  prejudices — but  to  whom  you  became  bound 
by  a  life-long  friendship  through  the  influence  of  a  three 
days'  intercourse  ?  Yet  if  you  had  not  thus  met,  you 
would  have  carried  through  life  the  idea  that  it  would  be 
impossible  for  you  to  give  your  fellowship  to  such  an  in- 
dividual. 

God  has  introduced  into  human  character  infinite 
variety,  and  for  you  to  say  that  you  do  not  love  and  will 
not  associate  with  a  man  because  he  is  unlike  you,  is 
not  only  foolish  but  wrong.  You  are  to  remember  that 
in  the  precise  manner  and  degree  in  which  a  man  dif- 
fers from  you,  do  you  differ  from  him  ;  and  that  from 
his  standpoint  you  are  naturally  as  repulsive  to  him  as 
he,  from  your  standpoint,  is  to  you.  So,  leave  all  this 
talk  of  congeniality  to  silly  girls  and  transcendental 
dreamers.  Do  your  business  in  your  own  way,  and 
concede  to  every  man  the  privilege  which  you  claim  for 
yourself.  The  more  you  mix  with  men,  the  less  you 
will  be  disposed  to  quarrel,  and  the  more  charitable  and 
liberal  will  you  become.  The  fact  that  you  do  not  un- 
derstand a  man,  is  quite  as  likely  to  be  your  fault  as  his. 
There  are  a  good  many  chances  in  favor  of  the  conclu- 
sion that,  if  you  fail  to  like  an  individual  whose  ac- 
quaintance you  make,  it  is  through  your  own  ignorance 
and  illiberality.  So  I  say,  meet  every  man  honestly  ; 
seek  to  know  him  ;  and  you  will  find  tha*^  in  those  points 


54  Titcomb^s  Letters. 

in  which  he  differs  from  you  rests  his  power  to  instruct 
you,  enlarge  you,  and  do  you  good.  Keep  your  heart 
open  for  everybody,  and  be  sure  that  you  shall  have  your 
reward.  You  shall  find  a  jewel  under  the  most  uncouth 
exterior  ;  and  associated  with  homeliest  manners  and 
the  oddest  ways  and  the  ugliest  faces,  you  will  find  rare 
virtues,  fragrant  little  humanities,  and  inspiring  heroisms. 
Again  :  you  can  have  no  influence  unless  you  are 
social.  An  unsocial  man  is  as  devoid  of  influence  as  an 
ice-peak  is  of  verdure.  If  you  take  a  peep  at  the  Hud- 
son River  some  bright  morning,  you  will  see,  ploughing 
grandly  along  towards  the  great  metropolis,  a  magnifi- 
cent steamer,  the  silver  wave  peeling  off  from  her  cut- 
water, and  a  million  jewels  sparkling  in  her  wake,  pass- 
ing all  inferior  barks  in  sublime  indifference,  and  send- 
ing yacht  and  skiff  dancing  from  her  heel.  Right  be- 
hind her,  you  shall  see  a  smaller  steamer,  the  central 
motive  power  of  a  plateau  of  barges,  loaded  to  their 
guards  with  the  produce  of  thousands  of  well  tilled 
acres.  She  has  fastened  herself  to  these  barges  by  lines 
invisible  to  you.  They  may  be  homely  things,  but  they 
contain  the  food  of  the  nation.  Her  own  speed  may  be 
retarded  by  this  association,  but  the  work  she  does  for 
commerce  is  tenfold  greater  than  that  accomplished  by 
the  grand  craft  that  shuns  abrasion  as  misfortune,  and 
seeks  to  secure  nothing  but  individual  dignity  and  fast 
time.  It  is  through  social  contact  and  absolute  social 
value  alone  that  you  can  accomplish  any  great    social 


Social  Duties  and  Privileges.  55 

good.  It  is  through  the  invisible  lines  which  you  are  able 
to  attach  to  the  minds  with  which  you  are  brought  into  as- 
sociation alone  that  you  "^an  tow  society,  with  its  deeply 
freighted  interests,  to  the  great  haven  of  your  hope. 

The  revenge  which  society  takes  upon  the  man  who 
isolates  himself,  is  as  terrible  as  it  is  inevitable.  The 
pride  which  sits  alone,  and  will  do  nothing  for  society 
because  society  disgusts  it,  or  because  its  possessor  does 
not  at  once  have  accorded  to  him  his  position,  will  have 
the  privilege  of  sitting  alone  in  its  sublime  disgust  till  it 
drops  into  the  grave.  The  world  sweeps  by  the  isolat- 
ed man,  carelessly,  remorselessly,  contemptuously.  He 
has  no  hold  upon  society,  because  he  is  not  a  part  of  it. 
The  boat  that  refuses  to  pause  in  its  passage,  and  throw 
a  line  to  smaller  craft,  will  bring  no  tow  into  port.  So 
let  me  tell  you,  that  if  you  have  an  honorable  desire  in 
your  heart  for  influence,  you  must  be  a  thoroughly  social 
man.  You  cannot  move  men  until  you  are  one  of  them. 
They  will  not  follow  you  until  they  have  heard  your 
voice,  shaken  your  hand,  and  fully  learned  your  princi- 
ples and  your  sympathies.  It  makes  no  difference  how 
much  you  know,  or  how  much  you  are  capable  of  doing. 
You  may  pile  accomplishment  upon  acquisition  moun- 
tain high  ;  but  if  you  fail  to  be  a  social  man,  demonstrat- 
ing to  society  that  your  lot  is  with  the  rest,  a  little  child 
with  a  song  in  its  mouth,  and  a  kiss  for  all,  and  a  pair 
of  innocent  hands  to  lay  upon  the  knees,  shall  lead  more 
hearts  and  change  the  direction  of  more  lives  than  you. 


LETTER  VIII. 

THE   REASONABLENESS  AND  DESIRABLENESS   01 
RELIGION. 

Greatness  and  goodness  are  not  means,  but  ends ! 

Hath  he  not  always  treasures,  always  friends. 

The  great  good  man?     Three  treasures,  love  and  light, 

And  calm  thoughts,  regular  as  infant's  breath  ; 

And  three  firm  friends,  more  sure  than  day  and  night — 

Himself,  his  maker,  and  the  angel  death  ? 

— Coleridge. 

YOUNG  men,  I  hate  cant,  and  I  do  not  know  exactly 
how  to  say  what  I  wish  to  say  in  this  letter  ;  but 
I  desire  to  talk  to  you  rationally  upon  the  subject  of  re- 
ligion. Now  don't  stop  reading  at  the  mention  of  this 
word,  but  read  this  letter  through.  The  fact  is,  it  is  the 
most  important  letter  I  have  undertaken  to  write  to  you. 
I  know  you,  I  think,  very  thoroughly.  Life  looks  so 
good  to  you,  and  you  are  anticipating  so  much  from  it, 
that  religion  comes  to  you,  and  comes  over  you,  like  a 
shadow.  You  associate  it  with  long  faces,  and  prayer- 
meetings,  and  psalm-singing,  and  dull  sermons,  and 
grave    reproofs    and    stupidity.     Your    companions    arc 


The  Reasonableness  of  Religion.  57 

gay,  and  so  are  you.  Perhaps  you  make  a  jest  of  reli- 
gion ;  but  deep  down  in  your  heart  of  hearts  you  know 
that  you  are  not  treating  rehgion  fairly.  You  know  per- 
fectly well  that  there  is  something  in  it  for  you,  and  that 
you  must  have  it.  You  know  that  the  hour  will  come 
when  you  will  specially  need  it.  But  you  wish  to  put 
it  off,  and  ''enjoy  life"  first.  This  results  very  much 
from  the  kind  of  preaching  you  have  always  listened  to. 
You  have  been  taught  that  human  life  is  all  vanity,  that 
these  things  which  so  greatly  delight  you  are  vain  and 
sinful,  that  your  great  business  in  this  world  is  to  be 
saved,  and  that  you  are  only  to  be  saved  by  learning  to 
despise  things  that  you  love,  and  to  love  things  which 
you  despise.  You  feel  that  this  is  unnatural  and  irra- 
tional.    I  think  it  is,  myself.     Now  let  me  talk  to  you. 

Go  with  me,  if  you  please,  to  the  next  station-house, 
and  look  off  upon  that  line  of  railroad.  It  is  as  straight 
as  an  arrow.  Out  run  the  iron  lines,  glittering  in  the 
sun, — out,  as  far  as  we  can  see,  until,  converging  almost 
to  a  single  thread,  they  pierce  the  sky.  What  were 
those  rails  laid  in  that  way  for  ?  It  is  a  road,  is  it  ? 
Try  your  cart  or  your  coach  there.  The  axletrees  are 
too  narrow,  and  you  go  bumping  along  upon  the  sleep- 
ers. Try  a  wheelbarrow.  You  cannot  keep  it  on  the 
rail.  But  that  road  was  made  for  something.  Now  go 
with  me  to  the  locomotive  shop.  What  is  this?  We 
are  told  it  is  a  locomotive.  What  is  a  locomotive  ? 
Why,  it  is  a  carriage  moved  by  steam.  But  it  is  very 
3* 


58  Titcofnb's  Letters. 

heavy.  The  wheels  would  sink  into  a  common  road  ta 
the  axle.  That  locomotive  can  never  run  on  a  common 
road,  and  the  man  is  a  fool  who  built  it.  Strange  that 
men  will  waste  time  and  money  in  that  way  !  But  stop 
a  moment.  Why  wouldn't  those  wheels  just  fit  those* 
rails  ?  We  measure  them,  and  then  we  go  to  the  track- 
and  measure  its  gauge.  That  solves  the  difficulty. 
Those  rails  were  intended  for  the  locomotive,  and  the 
locomotive  for  the  rails.  They  are  good  for  nothing 
apart.  The  locomotive  is  not  even  safe  anywhere  else. 
If  it  should  get  off,  after  it  is  once  on,  it  would  run  into 
rocks  and  stumps,  and  bury  itself  in  sands  or  swamps 
beyond  recovery. 

Young  man,  you  are  a  locomotive.  You  are  a  thing 
that  goes  by  a  power  planted  inside  of  you.  You  are 
made  to  go.  In  fact,  considered  as  a  machine,  you  are 
very  far  superior  to  a  locomotive.  The  maker  of  the 
locomotive  is  man  ;  your  maker  is  man's  maker.  You 
are  as  different  from  a  horse,  or  an  ox,  or  a  camel,  as  a 
locomotive  is  different  from  a  wheelbarrow,  a  cart,  or  a 
coach.  Now  do  you  suppose  that  the  being  who  made 
you — manufactured  your  machine,  and  put  into  it  the 
motive  power — did  not  make  a  special  road  for  you  to 
run  upon  ?  My  idea  of  religion  is  that  it  is  a  railroad 
for  a  human  locomotive,  and  that  just  so  sure  as  it 
undertakes  to  run  upon  a  road  adapted  only  to  animal 
power,  will  it  bury  its  wheels  in  the  sand,  dash  itself 
among  rocks,   and  come    to   inevitable   wreck.     If  you 


The  Reasonableness  of  Religion.  5^ 

don't  believe  this,  try  the  other  thing.  Here  are  forty 
roads,  suppose  you  choose  one  of  them,  and  see  where 
you  come  out.  Here  is  the  dram-shop  road.  Try  it. 
Follow  it,  and  see  how  long  it  will  be  before  you  come 
to  a  stump  and  a  smash-up.  Here  is  the  road  of  sen- 
sual pleasure.  You  arc  just  as  sure  to  bury  your  wheels 
in  the  dirt  as  you  try  it.  Your  machine  is  too  heavy 
for  that  track  altogether.  Here  is  the  winding,  uncer- 
tain path  of  frivolity.  There  are  morasses  on  each  side 
of  it,  and,  with  the  headway  that  you  are  under,  you 
will  be  sure,  sooner  or  later,  to  pitch  into  one  of  them. 
Here  is  the  road  of  philosophy,  but  it  runs  through  a 
country  from  which  the  light  of  Heaven  is  shut  out ;  and 
while  you  may  be  able  to  keep  your  machine  right  side 
up,  it  will  only  be  by  feeling  your  way  along  in  a 
clumsy,  comfortless  kind  of  style,  and  with  no  certainty 
of  ever  arriving  at  the  heavenly  terminus.  Here  is  the 
road  of  skepticism.  That  is  covered  with  fog,  and  a 
fence  runs  across  it  within  ten  rods.  Don't  you  see  that 
your  machine  was  never  intended  to  run  on  those  roads  1 
Don't  you  know  that  it  never  was,  and  don't  you  know 
that  the  only  track  upon  which  it  can  run  safely  is  the 
religious  track  ?  Don't  you  know  that  just  as  long  as 
you  keep  your  wheels  on  that  track,  wreck  is  impossi- 
ble ?  Don't  you  know  that  it  is  the  only  track  on  which 
wreck  is  not  certain  ?  I  know  it,  if  you  don't  ;  and  I 
tell  you  that  on  that  track  which  God  has  laid  down  ex- 
pressly for  your  soul  to  run  upon,  your  soul  will  find  free 


6o  Titcoinb's  Letters. 

play  for  all  its  wheels,  and  an  unobstructed  and  happ^ 
■progress.  It  is  straight  and  narrow,  but  it  is  safe  and 
solid,  and  furnishes  the  only  direct  route  to  the  heavenly 
city.  Now,  if  God  made  your  soul,  and  made  religion 
for  it,  you  are  a  fool  if  you  refuse  to  place  yourself  on 
the  track.  You  cannot  prosper  anywhere  else,  and  youi 
machine  will  not  run  anywhere  else. 

I  suppose  that  a  nice  casuist  would  say  that  I  had 
thus  far  talked  only  of  morality — only  of  obedience  to 
law.  But  I  was  only  dealing  with  the  subject  in  the 
rough,  and  trying  to  show  vou  how  rational  a  thing  re- 
ligion is,  and  to  bring  to  your  comprehension  your  nat- 
ural relation  to  it.  I  know  that  the  rule  of  your  life  is 
selfishness.  I  know  that  you  are  sinful,  polluted,  wil- 
ful, and  that  you  act  from  low  motives.  I  know  that  the 
race  to  which  you  belong  have  all  fallen  from  innocence, 
and  that  they  have  so  thoroughly  put  out  the  light  that 
God  meant  should  light  every  man  who  comes  into  the 
world,  that,  supplementary  to  the  natural  moral  system. 
He  has,  in  great  benevolence,  devised  a  scheme  of  reli- 
gion, embracing  salvation.  This  is  Christianity,  and  its 
purpose  is  to  get  you  back  upon  the  track  where  the 
race  first  started.  It  is  a  divine  contrivance,  or  plan, 
Cor  accomplishing  this  purpose. 

Jesus  Christ  saw  the  whole  mass  of  human  machinery 
off  the  track,  and  going  to  irremediable  ruin  just  so 
truly  as  he  did  not  interfere  to  prevent  it.  He  camf» 
and  told  us  all  how  to  get  back,   through  repentance. 


The  Reasonableness  of  Religion.  6i 

faith,  reformation,  the  surrender  of  will,  the  abnegation 
of  self,  and  the  devotion  of  the  heart  in  love  to  God  and 
good  will  to  men.  He  placed  himself  upon  the  track 
and  ran  over  it,  not  only  showing  us  how  to  get  there 
ourselves,  but  showing  us  how  to  run  when  there.  In 
other  words,  he  exhibited  to  us  a  true  human  life. 
Then,  when  he  had  cleared  away  all  the  rubbish  from 
the  track,  shown  us  how  to  get  upon  it  again,  how  to  run 
when  we  get  there,  how  to  avoid  and  repair  accidents 
by  the  way, — when  he  had  done  all  this,  and  set  his 
agents  at  work  in  carrying  out  his  plans,  he  went  back 
to  Heaven,  and  now  looks  down  to  see  how  the  work 
goes  on. 

Young  men,  /  believe  this.  I  am  sure  it  is  true,  and 
I  know,  and  God  knows  that  this  plan  which  he  has 
devised  to  save  you  and  make  it  possible  for  you  to  lead 
a  true  human  life,  which  shall  ultimate  in  life's  highest 
issues,  is  the  only  one  which  can  save  you.  I  know 
that  you  can  never  be  happy  until  you  have  heartily  and 
practically  accepted  this  religion  ;  and  for  you  to  go  on, 
year  after  year,  carelessly,  thoughtlessly,  spoiling  your- 
self, growing  harder,  meaner,  more  polluted,  with  no 
love  to  God  and  outgushing  benevolence  to  men,  is  an 
insult  to  Jesus  Christ  and  a  brutal  wrong  to  that  which 
he  came  to  save.  The  fact  is  that  sin  is  the  most  un- 
manly thing  in  God's  world.  You  never  were  made  for 
sin  and  selfishness.  You  were  made  for  love  and  obedi- 
ence.    If  you  think  it  is    manly  to  reject    religion,  and 


62  TitcomVs  Letters. 

the  noble  obligations  it  imposes  upon  you,  it  only  shows 
how  strong  a  hold  the  devil  has  upon  you.  It  shows 
how  degraded  you  are ;  how  the  beast  that  is  in  you 
domineers  over  the  soul  that  is  in  you. 

Young  man,  your  personal  value  depends  entirely 
upon  your  possession  of  religion.  You  are  worth  to 
yourself  what  you  are  capable  of  enjoying ;  you  are 
worth  to  society  the  happiness  you  are  capable  of  im- 
parting. To  yourself,  without  religion,  you  are  worth 
very  little.  A  man  whose  aims  are  low,  whose  motives 
are  selfish,  who  has  in  his  heart  no  adoration  for  the 
great  God,  and  no  love  of  his  Christ,  whose  will  is  not 
subordinate  to  the  Supreme  will — gladly  and  gratefully 
—who  has  no  faith,  no  tenable  hope  of  a  happy  immor- 
tality, no  strong-armed  trust  that  with  his  soul  it  shall  be 
well  in  all  the  future,  cannot  be  worth  very  much  to 
himself.  Neither  can  such  a  man  be  worth  very  much 
to  society,  because  he  has  not  that  to  bestow  which 
society  most  needs  for  its  prosperity  and  its  happiness. 
A  locomotive  off  the  track  is  worth  nothing  to  its  owner 
or  the  public  so  long  as  it  is  off  the  track.  The  condi- 
tions of  its  legitimate  and  highest  value  are  not  complied 
with.  It  cannot  be  operated  satisfactorily  to  the  owner, 
or  usefully  to  the  public,  because  it  is  not  where  it  was 
intended  to  run  by  the  man  who  made  it. 

Just  look  at  the  real  object  of  religion,  and  see  how 
rational  it  is.  It  is  the  placing  of  your  souls  in  harmony 
with  God   and  his  laws.     God  is  the  perfect,  supreme 


TJie  Reasonableness  of  Religion.  63 

soul,  and  your  souls  are  the  natural  offspring  of  that 
soul.  Your  souls  are  made  in  the  image  of  his,  and, 
like  all  created  things,  are  subject  to  certain  immutable 
laws.  The  transgression  of  these  laws  damages  your 
souls,  warps  them,  stunts  their  growth,  outrages  them. 
Do  you  not  see  that  you  can  only  be  manly  and  attain  a 
manly  growth  by  preserving  your  true  relations  and  like- 
ness to  the  father  soul,  and  a  strict  obedience  to  the 
laws  of  your  being?  God  has  given  you  appetites,  and 
he  meant  you  should  indulge  them,  and  that  they  should 
be  sources  of  happiness  to  you  ;  but  always  in  a  way 
which  shall  not  interfere  with  your  spiritual  growth  and 
development.  He  gave  you  passions,  and  they  are  just 
as  sacred  as  any  part  of  you,  but  they  are  to  be  under 
the  strict  control  of  your  reason  and  your  conscience. 
He  gave  you  desires  for  earthly  happiness.  He  planted 
in  you  the  love  of  human  praise,  delight  in  society,  the 
faculty  to  enjoy  all  his  works.  He  gave  you  his  works  to 
enjoy,  but  you  can  only  enjoy  them  truly  when  you  re- 
gard them  as  blessings  from  the  great  Giver,  to  feed  and 
not  starve  your  higher  natures.  There  is  not  a  true  joy 
in  life  which  you  are  required  to  deprive  yourself  of,  in 
being  faithful  to  him  and  his  laws.  Without  obedience 
to  law,  your  souls  cannot  be  healthful,  and  it  is  only  to 
a  healthful  soul  that  pleasure  comes  with  its  natural — 
its  divine — aroma.  Is  a  nose  stuffed  with  drugs  capable 
of  perceiving  the  delicate  fragrance  of  the  rose  ?  Is  the 
soul   that   intensifies  its  pleasures  as  an  object  of  lifa 


64  Titcomh' s  Letters. 

capable  of  a  healthful  appreciation  of  even  purely  sen' 
sual  pleasures  ?  The  idea  of  a  man's  enjoying  life  with- 
out religion  is  absurd. 

I  have  been  thus  particular  upon  this  point,  because 
I  love  you,  and  because  I  know  that  without  it,  or  in- 
dependent of  it,  all  my  previous  talk  has  very  little  sig- 
nificance. I  have  reasoned  the  thing  to  you  on  its 
merits,  and  I  urge  it  upon  your  immediate  attention,  as 
a  matter  of  duty  and  policy.  The  matter  of  duty  you 
understand.  I  do  not  need  to  talk  to  you  about  that. 
Now  about  the  policy.  It  will  not  be  five  years,  proba- 
bly, before  every  one  of  you  will  be  involved,  head  and 
ears,  in  business.  Some  of  you  are  thus  involved 
already.  You  grow  hard  as  you  grow  older.  You  get 
habits  of  thought  and  life  which  incrust  you.  You  be- 
come surrounded  with  associations  which  hold  you,  so 
that  the  longer  you  live  without  religion  the  worse  it 
will  be  for  you,  and  the  less  probable  will  be  your  adop- 
tion of  a  religious  life.  If  you  expect  to  be  a  man,  you 
must  begin  now.  It  is  so  easy,  comparatively,  to  do  it 
now ! 

With  this  paragraph  I  cease  to  direct  my  words  par- 
ticularly to  you.  What  I  have  said  to  you,  I  have  said 
heartily  and  conscientiously.  I  shall  see  you  some 
time.  We  are  none  of  us  to  live  very  long,  but  if  we 
all  act  the  manly  part  we  were  sent  here  to  act,  and  are 
true  to  God  and  ourselves,  we  shall  be  gathered  into  a 
great  kingdom,  whose  throne  will  be  occupied  by  the 


TJie  Reasonable7iess  of  Religio7i.  65 

founder  of  our  religion.  During  some  golden  hour  of 
that  cloudless  day,  sitting  or  straying  upon  some  heav- 
enly hill,  watching  upon  the  far-stretching  plains  the 
tented  hosts  of  God's  redeemed,  or  marking  the  shadow 
of  an  angel's  flight  across  the  bright  mirror  of  the  river 
of  life,  I  shall  say  something  about  these  letters  to  you. 
I  shall  look  you  in  the  face  as  I  say  it,  to  see  if  you  are 
moved  to  an  emotion  of  gratitude  or  of  gratification  ; 
and  if  you  should  happen  to  tell  me  that  they  made  you 
\)etter,  that  they  led  you  to  a  higher  development,  that 
they  directed  you  to  a  manly  and  a  godly  life,  I  should 
press  your  hand,  and  if  I  should  keep  from  weeping  it 
would  be  more  than  I  can  do  now 


LETTERS    TO  YOUNG  WOMEN. 


LETTERS  TO  YOUNG   WOMEN. 


LETTER   I. 

DRESS— ITS  PROPRIETIES  AXD  ABUSES. 

A  creature  not  too  bright  or  good 

For  human  nature's  daily  food  ; 

For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles. 

Praise,  blame,  love,  kisses,  tears  and  smiles. 


A  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command. 

— Wordsworth. 

I  have  observed,  among  all  nations,  that  the  women  ornament  themselves 
more  than  the  men. 

— John  Lkdvard. 

1  ACCOUNT  a  pure,  beautiful,  intelligent,  and  well 
bred  woman,  the  most  attractive  object  of  vision 
and  contemplation  in  the  world.  As  mother,  sister, 
and  wife,  such  a  woman  is  an  angel  of  grace  and  good- 
ness, and  makes  a  heaven  of  the  home  which  is  sancti- 
fied and  glorified  by  her  presence.     As  an  clement  of 


yo  Titcomb's  Letters. 

society  she  invites  into  finest  demonstrations  all  that  is 
good  in  the  heart,  and  shames  into  secrecy  and  silence 
all  that  is  unbecoming  and  despicable.  There  may  be 
more  of  greatness  and  of  glory  in  the  higher  develop- 
ments of  manhood,  but,  surely,  in  womanhood  God 
most  delights  to  show  the  beauty  of  the  holiness  and  the 
sweetness  of  the  love  of  which  he  is  the  infinite  source. 
It  is  for  this  reason  that  a  girl  or  a  young  woman  is  a 
very  sacred  thing  to  me.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  a 
silly  young  woman  or  a  vicious  one  makes  me  sigh  or 
shudder.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  I  pray  that  I  may 
write  worthily  to  young  women. 

In  getting  at  a  piece  of  work,  it  is  often  necessary,  as 
a  preliminary,  to  clear  away  rubbish  ;  and  I  say  at  first 
that  I  do  not  write  to  masculine  young  women.  I  deem 
masculine  women  abnormal  women,  and  I  therefore  re- 
fer all  those  women  who  wish  to  vote,  who  delight  in  the 
public  exhibition  of  themselves,  who  bemoan  the  fate 
which  drapes  them  in  petticoats,  who  quarrel  with  St. 
Paul  and  their  lot,  who  own  more  rights  than  they  pos- 
sess ;  and  fail  to  fulfil  the  duties  of  their  sphere  while 
seeking  for  its  enlargement— I  refer  all  these  to  the  eight 
letters  recently  addressed  to  young  men.  They  will 
find  some  practical  remarks  in  those  letters  upon  mas- 
culine development  and  a  manly  discharge  of  life's 
duties.  My  theory  may  be  very  unsound,  but  it  is  my 
belief,  that  the  first  natural  division  of  the  human  race 
is  marked  by  the  line   that  distinguishes  the  sexes.     I 


Dress  "-Its  Proprieties  and  Abuses,        yt 

believe  that  a  true  woman  is  just  as  different  from  a  true 
man  as  a  true  man  is  different  from  a  true  woman. 
The  nature  and  the  constitution  of  the  mascuhne  are 
one,  and  the  nature  and  constitution  of  the  feminine  are 
another.  So  of  the  glory  attached  to  each ;  so  of  the 
functions  ;  so  of  the  sphere.  Therefore,  if  there  be 
*'  strong-minded  women  "  who  read  these  letters,  I  bid 
them,  with  all  kindness,  to  turn  to  the  other  series  for 
that  which  will  most  benefit  them. 

I  shall  talk  first  of  that  thing  which,  worthily  or  most 
unworthily,  engages  the  minds  of  all  young  women,  viz. 
—DRESS.  I  speak  of  this  first,  because  it  is  part  of  the 
rubbish  which  I  wish  to  get  out  of  the  way  before  com- 
mencing more  serious  work  ;  and  yet  this  is  not  alto- 
gether trivial.  I  believe  in  dress.  I  believe  that  God 
delights  in  beautiful  things,  and  as  he  has  never  made 
anything  more  beautiful  than  woman,  I  believe  that  that 
mode  of  dressing  the  form  and  face  which  best  harmo- 
nizes with  their  beauty,  is  that  which  pleases  him  best. 
I  believe  the  mode  of  female  dress  prevalent  among  the 
Shaker  women  is  absolute  desecration.  To  take  any- 
thing which  infinite  ingenuity  and  power  have  made 
beautiful,  and  capable  by  the  gracefulness  of  its  form 
and  the  harmony  of  its  parts  of  producing  the  purest 
pleasure  to  the  observer,  and  clothe  it  with  a  meal-bag 
and  crown  it  with  a  sugar-scoop,  is  an  irreverent  trifling 
with  sacred  things  which  should  be  punished  by  mulct 
and  imprisonment. 


72  Titcomb's  Letters, 

It  is  a  shame  to  any  woman  who  has  the  means  to 
dress  well,  to  dress  meanly,  and  it  is  a  particular  shame 
for  any  woman  to  do  this  in  the  name  of  religion.  1 
have  seen  women  who,  believing  the  fashionable  devo- 
tion to  dress  to  be  sinful,  as  it  doubtless  is,  go  to  tha^ 
extreme  in  plainness  of  attire  which,  if  it  prove  anything 
touching  the  power  that  governs  them,  proves  that  it  is 
a  power  which  is  at  war  with  man's  purest  instincts,  and 
most  elevated  tastes.  I  say  it  is  a  shame  for  a  woman 
to  dress  unattractively  who  has  it  in  her  power  to  dress 
well.  It  is  every  woman's  duty  to  make  herself  pleas- 
ant and  attractive  by  such  raiment  and  ornament  as 
shall  best  accord  with  the  style  of  beauty  with  which  she 
is  endowed.  The  beauty  of  woman's  person  was  in- 
tended to  be  a  source  of  pleasure — the  fitting  accom- 
paniment of  that  which  in  humanity  is  the  most  nearly 
allied  to  the  angelic.  Surely,  if  God  plants  flowers 
upon  a  clod  they  may  rest  upon  a  woman's  bosom,  or 
glorify  a  woman's  hair  ! 

But  dress  is  a  subordinate  thing,  because  beauty  is 
not  the  essential  thing.  Beauty  is  very  desirable ;  it  is 
a  very  great  blessing ;  it  is  a  misfortune  to  possess  an 
unattractive  person  ;  but  there  are  multitudes  of  women 
with  priceless  excellences  of  heart  and  mind  who  are 
not  beautiful.  Beauty,  so  far  as  it  is  dependent  upon 
form  and  color,  is  a, material  thing,  and  belongs  to  the 
grosser  nature.  Therefore,  dress  is  a  subject  which 
should  occupy  comparatively  few  of  the  thoughts  of  a 


Dress — Its  Proprieties  and  Abuses.        ']i 

true  woman,  whethe^:  beautiful  or  not.  To  dress  well, 
becomingly,  even  richly,  if  it  can  be  afforded,  is  a  wo- 
man's  duty.  To  make  the  dress  of  the  person  the  ex- 
ponent of  personal  taste,  is  a  woman's  privilege.  But  to 
make  dress  the  grand  object  of  life  ;  to  think  of  nothing 
and  talk  of  nothing  but  that  which  pertains  to  the 
drapery  and  artificial  ornament  of  the  person,  is  to 
transform  the  trick  of  a  courtesan  into  amusement  for  a 
fool.  There  are  multitudes  of  women  with  whom  dress 
is  the  all-prevalent  thought.  They  think  of  it,  dream 
of  it,  live  for  it.  It  is  enough  to  disgust  one  to  hear 
them  talk  about  it.  It  goes  with  them  from  the  gaiety 
of  the  ball  room  into  the  weeds  of  the  house  of  death. 
They  use  it  as  a  means  for  splitting  grief  into  vulgar 
fractions,  and  are  led  out  from  great  bereavements  into 
the  consolations  of  vanity,  by  the  hands  of  numerators 
and  denominators.  They  flatter  one  another,  envy  one 
another,  hate  one  another — all  on  the  score  of  dress. 
They  go  upon  the  street  to  show  their  dresses.  They 
enter  the  house  of  God  to  display  their  bonnets.  They 
actually  prize  themselves  more  highly  for  what  they 
wear  than  for  any  charm  of  person  or  mind  which  they 
may  possess  ! 

One  of  the  most  vulgar  and  unbecoming  things  in  the 
world  is  this  devotion  to  dress,  which,  in  many  minds, 
grows  into  a  form  of  insanity,  and  leads  to  the  worship 
of  dry  goods  and  dress-makers.  Now  it  will  be  impos- 
sible for  me  to  give  you  special  directions  upon  this 
4 


74  Tit  comb's  Letters. 

subject  of  dress.     Your  dress-maker  and  your  books 
and,   better  than  all,   your  own  taste  and  experience, 
will  tell  you  what  colors  become  your  complexion,  what 
style  of  manufacture  best  accords  with  your  form  and 
style  of  movement.     I  shall  only  speak  generally  ;  and 
I  say,  first,  dress  modestly.     It  is  all  well   enough  for 
little  girls  to  show  their  necks,  but  for  a  woman  to  make 
her  appearance  in  the  society  of  young  men  with  such 
displays  of  person  as  are  made  in  what  is  so  mistakenly 
called   '^  full  dress,"  is  a  shame  to  her.     I  know  what 
fashion  allows  in  this  matter,  and  fashion  has  many  sins 
to  answer  for.     Thousands  of  girls  dress  in  a  manner 
that  they  would  discard  with  horror  and  disgust,  if  they 
knew  the  trains  of  thought  which  are  suggested  by  their 
presence.     I  know  young  men,  and  I  know  there  is  not 
one  in  one  hundred  who  attends  a  ''  full  dress   party," 
and  comes  out  as  pure  and  worthy  a  man  as  he  went  in. 
There  is  not  one  in  one  hundred  who  does  not  hold  the 
secret  of  a  base  thought  suggested  by  the  style  of  dress 
which  he  sees  around  him.     This  may  tell  very  badly 
for  young  men.     Doubtless  it  does  ;  but  we  are  obliged 
to  take  things  as  we  find  them.     The  millennium  has 
not  dawned  yet,  and  we  have  receded  to  a  considerable 
distance  from  the  era  of  human  innocence.     I  tell  you  a 
fact ;  and,  if  you  are  modest  young  women,  you  wiU 
heed  its  suggestions.     If  you  choose  to  become  the  ob' 
jects  of  foul  fancies  among  young  men,  whose  respect 
you  are  desirous  of  securing,  you  know  the  way. 


Dress — Its  Proprieties  and  Abuses.       75 

Again,  shun  peculiarities  of  dress  which  attract  the 
attention  of  the  vulgar.  I  know  that  a  young  woman 
can  dress  in  such  a  way  as  to  excite  a  chaste  and 
worthy  admiration  among  her  own  sex  as  well  as  mine, 
and  my  judgment  tells  me  that  that  is  the  proper  dress 
for  her  to  wear.  I  feel  that  it  is  right  and  well  for  her 
to  dress  like  this,  and  that  it  is  not  right  and  well  for 
her  to  dress  otherwise. 

Again,  dress  in  such  a  manner  that  your  attire  will  not 
occupy  your  thoughts  after  it  is  upon  you.  Let  every 
garment  be  well  fitted  and  well  put  on — ugly  in  no 
point,  fussy  in  no  point,  nor  made  of  such  noticeable 
material  that  you  necessarily  carry  with  you  the  con- 
sciousness that  people  around  you  are  examining  it. 
Make  it  always  subordinate  to  yourself — tributary  to 
your  charms,  rather  than  constituent  of  them.  Then 
the  society  in  which  you  move  will  see  yoti,  and  not 
your  housings  and  trappings.  ''Jane  was  dressed  very 
becomingly,"  or  "how  well  Jane  looked,"  are  very 
much  more  complimentary  comments  than  "that  was  a 
splendid  dress  that  Jane  wore  ; "  and  a  tolerably  acute 
mind  may  gather  from  these  expressions  the  philosophy 
of  the  whole  thing. 

There  is,  as  a  general  thing,  no  excuse  for  attire 
which  is  not  neat  and  orderly,  at  any  time  in  the  day. 
A  thoroughly  neat  and  orderly  young  woman  is  pre- 
sentable at  any  hour,  whether  she  be  in  the  kitchen  or 
the  parlor ;  and  I  have  seen  specimens  of  womanhood 


76  Titcomb' s  Letters. 

that  were  as  attractive  in  their  kitchens,  with  their  tidy 
hair  and  their  nine-penny  cahco,  as  in  their  parlors  at  a 
later  hour,  robed  in  silk  and  busy  at  their  embroidery. 
Materials  may  be  humble,  but  they  may  always  be 
tastefully  made  and  neatly  kept.  There  are  few  habits 
that  a  young  woman  may  acquire  which,  in  the  long 
run,  will  tend  more  to  the  preservation  of  her  own  self- 
respect  than  that  of  thorough  tastefulness,  appropriate- 
ness, and  tidiness  of  dress,  and  certainly  very  few  which 
will  make  her  more  agreeable  to  others. 

So,  I  say,  dress  well  if  you  can  afford  it,  always 
neatly,  never  obtrusively,  and  always  with  a  modest 
regard  to  rational  ideas  of  propriety.  Scorn  the  idea  of 
making  dress  in  any  way  the  great  object  of  life.  It  is 
beneath  you.  A  woman  was  made  for  something 
higher  than  a  convenient  figure  for  displaying  dry  goods 
and  the  possibilities  of  millinery  and  mantua-making. 


LETTER   II. 

THE    TRANSITIO.V   FROM    GIRLHOOD    TO    WOMAN* 

HOOD. 

O  mirth  and  innocence  !    O  milk  and  water ! 
Ye  happy  mixtures  of  more  happy  days  ! 

— Byron. 

Vr  figure   to  ourselves  the  thing  we  like,  and  then  we  build  it  up  as 
chance  will  have  it,  on  the  rock  or  sand. 

— Henry  Taylor. 


EVERY  young  woman  who  has  arrived  at  twenty 
years  of  age  has  passed  through  three  dispensa- 
tions— the  chaotic,  the  transitional,  and  the  crystalline. 
The  chaotic  usually  terminates  with  the  adoption  of  the 
long  skirt.  Then  commences  the  transitional  dispen- 
sation, involving  the  process  of  crystallization.  This 
process  may  go  on  feebly  for  years,  or  it  may  proceed 
so  rapidly  that  two  years  will  complete  it.  In  some 
women,  it  is  never  completed,  in  consequence  of  a  lack 
of  inherent  vital  force,  or  a  criminal  disregard  of  the 
requisite  conditions.  This  transitional  dispensation, 
which  is  better  characterized  by  calling  it  the  silly  dis- 


/S  Titcomb' s  Letters. 

pensation,  is  so  full  of  dangers  that  it  calls  for  a  sepa* 
rate  letter ;  and  this  I  propose  to  write  now. 

The  silly  dispensation  or  stage  of  a  young  woman's 
life  is  marked  by  many  curious  symptoms,  some  of 
them  indicative  of  disease.  As  the  cutting  of  the  natu- 
ral teeth  is  usually  accompanied  by  various  disorders, 
so  the  cutting  of  the  spiritual  teeth  in  women  is  very 
apt  to  exhibit  its  results  in  abnormal  manifestations. 
They  sometimes  eat  slate  pencils  and  chalk,  and  some 
have  been  known  to  take  kindly  to  broken  bits  of  plas- 
tering. Others  take  a  literary  turn,  and,  not  content 
with  any  number  of  epistles  to  female  acquaintances, 
send  contributions  to  the  press,  which  the  friendly  and 
appreciative  editor  kindly  and  carefully  returns,  or  as 
kindly  and  carefully  loses,  or  fails  to  receive.  Others 
still  take  to  shopping  and  dawdling  with  clerks  who 
have  dawning  beards,  red  cheeks,  and  frock  coats  with 
outside  pockets,  from  which  protrude  white  handker- 
chief-tips. Still  others  yoke  themselves  in  pairs,  drawn 
together  by  sympathetic  attraction,  and  by  community 
of  mental  exercise  on  the  subject  of  beaux.  You  shall 
see  them  walking  through  the  streets,  locked  arm  in 
arm,  plunging  into  the  most  charming  confidences,  or, 
if  you  happen  to  sleep  in  the  house  with  them,  yoa 
shall  hear  them  talking  in  their  chamber  until,  at  mid- 
night, the  monotonous  hum  of  their  voices  has  soothed 
you  into  sleep  ;  and  the  same  voices,  with  the  same  un- 
broken  hum,    shall   greet    your  ears    in    the    morning 


From   Girlhood  to  Womanhood.  79 

Others  take  to  solitude  and  long  curls.  They  walk  with 
their  eyes  down,  murmuring  to  themselves,  with  th^ 
impression  that  everybody  is  looking  at  them. 

If  a  young  woman  can  be  safely  carried  through  this 
dispensation,  the  great  step  of  life  will  have  been  gained. 
This  is  the  era  of  hasty  marriages,  deathless  attach- 
ments which  last  until  they  are  superseded,  and  delib- 
erately formed  determinations  to  live  a  maiden  life, 
which  endure  until  the  reception  of  an  offer  of  marriage. 
If,  during  this  period,  a  young  woman  be  at  home,  en- 
gaged more  or  less  in  the  duties  of  the  household,  or, 
if  she  be  engaged  in  study,  with  the  healthful  restraints 
and  stimulus  of  general  society  about^  her,  it  is  very  well 
for  her.  But  if  she  be  among  her  mates  constantly,  with 
nothing  to  do,  or  if  she  be  shut  up  in  a  boarding-school 
conducted  on  the  high  pressure  principle,  where  imagin- 
ation is  stimulated  by  restraint,  and  disobedience  to  law 
is  provoked  by  its  unreasonableness,  it  is  indeed  very 
bad  for  her. 

It  is  probable  that  the  theatre  is  a  school  of  vice 
rather  than  of  virtue,  that  the  ball-room  is  a  promoter 
of  dissipation,  and  that  indiscriminate  society  has  its 
temptations  and  its  dangers  ;  but  a  female  boarding- 
school,  shut  off  from  general  society  by  law,  its  mem- 
bers lacking  free  exercise  in  the  open  air,  denied  the 
privilege  of  daily  amusements,  and  presided  over  by 
teachers  who  fail  to  understand  the  nature  of  the  pre- 
cious material  they  have  in  charge,  is  as  much  worse 


8o  Titcomb's  Letters. 

for  mind  and  morals  than  all  these  combined,  as  can 
well  be  imagined.  I  know  female  boarding  schools  that 
are  properly  conducted,  whose  teachers  know  what  a 
girl  is,  and  what  she  needs,  and  who  contrive  to  lead 
her  through  this  transitional  passage  of  her  life  into  a 
healthful  and  rational  womanhood  ;  and  I  know  others 
whose  very  atmosphere  is  that  of  fever.  I  know  board- 
ing schools  where  beaux  are  the  everlasting  topic  of 
conversation,  and  where  an  unhealthy  imagination  is  so 
stimulated  by.  irrational  restraints  and  mutual  fellow- 
feeling,  that  the  foundation  of  nearly  every  character 
is  necessarily  laid  in  rottenness. 

If  any  young  woman,  in  a  boarding-school  or  out  of 
it,  should  find  herself  a  subject  of  any  of  the  diseases 
which  I  have  pointed  out,  she  should  seek  a  remedy  at 
once.  If  she  finds  herself  moved  to  go  shopping  for  the 
simple  purpose  of  talking  with  the  clerks,  let  her  re- 
member that  she  is  not  only  doing  an  immodest  and 
unbecoming  thing,  but  that  she  is  manifesting  the 
symptom  of  that  which  is  a  dangerous  mental  disease. 
To  begin  with,  she  is  doing  a  very  silly  thing.  Again., 
she  is  doing  that  which  compromises  her  in  the  eyes  of 
all  sensible  young  men.  If  she  finds  herself  possessed 
with  unaccountable  proclivities  to  a  mineral  diet,  or  a 
foggy  out-reaching  for  something  or  other  that  mani- 
fests itself  in  profound  confidences  with  one  similarly 
afflicted,  or  any  one  of  a  hundred  absorbing  sentimen- 
talisms,  let  her  remember  that  she  is  mentally  and  moi* 


From   Girlhood  to  Womaiihood.  8i 

ally  sick,  and  that,  for  her  own  comfort  and  peace,  she 
should  seek  at  once  for  a  remedy.  Her  only  safety  is 
in  seeking  direct  contact  with  a  healthier  and  more  ad- 
vanced life,  and  by  securing  healthful  occupation  for  all 
her  powers,  intellectual  and  physical.  Dreams,  imagi- 
nations, silly  talk  and  twaddle  about  young  men,  yearn- 
ings after  sympathetic  hearts,  the  dandling  of  precious 
little  thoughts  about  beaux  on  the  knees  of  fancy,  and 
all  that  sort  of  nonsense  should  be  discarded — thrust 
out  of  the  sacred  precincts  of  the  mind — as  if  they  were 
so  many  foul  reptiles.  Get  out  of  this  feverish  and  un- 
healthy frame  just  as  soon  as  possible,  and  walk  forth 
into  a  more  natural,  dignified,  and  womanly  life. 

A  young  woman  at  this  age  should  remember  that  her 
special  business  is  to  fit  herself  for  the  duties  of  life.  I 
would  not  deny  to  her  the  society  of  young  men,  when 
she  has  time  for  it,  and  a  proper  opportunity,  but  she 
should  remember  that  she  has  nothing  to  do  with  beaux, 
nothing  to  do  with  thoughts  of  and  calculations  for  mar- 
riage, nothing  to  do  but  to  become,  in  the  noblest  way, 
a  woman.  She  should  remember  that  she  is  too  young 
to  know  her  own  mind,  and  that,  as  a  general  thing,  it 
is  not  worth  knowing.  Girlish  attachments  and  girlish 
ideas  of  men  are  the  silliest  things  in  all  the  world.  If 
you  do  not  believe  it,  ask  your  mothers.  Ninety-nine 
times  in  a  hundred  they  will  tell  you  that  they  did  not 
marry  the  boy  they  fancied,  before  they  had  a  right  to 
fancy  anybody.  If  you  dream  of  matrimony  for  amuse* 
4* 


82  Titcomb' s  Letters. 

ment,  and  for  the  sake  of  killing  time,  I  have  this  tc 
say,  that,  considering  the  kind  of  young  men  you  fancy, 
you  can  do  quite  as  well  by  hanging  a  hat  upon  a  hitch- 
ing-post,  and  worshipping  it  through  your  chamber  win^ 
dow.  Besides,  it  is  during  this  period  of  unsettled  no- 
tions and  really  shifting  attachments  that  a  habit  of  flirt- 
ing and  a  love  of  it  are  generated. 

I  suppose  that  coquetry,  in  its  legitimate  form,  is 
among  a  woman's  charms,  and  that  there  is  a  legitimate 
sphere  for  its  employment,  for,  except  in  rare  natures, 
it  is  a  natural  thing  with  your  sex.  Nature  has  ordained 
that  men  shall  prize  most  that  which  shall  cost  an  effort, 
and  while  it  has  designed  that  you  shall  at  some  time 
give  your  heart  and  hand  to  a  worthy  man,  it  has  also 
provided  a  way  for  making  the  prize  he  seeks  an  appar- 
ently difficult  one  to  win.  It  is  a  simple  and  beautiful 
provision  for  enhancing  your  value  in  his  eyes,  so  as  to 
make  a  difficult  thing  of  that  which  you  know  to  be  un- 
speakably easy.  If  you  hold  yourselves  cheaply,  and 
meet  all  advances  with  open  willingness  and  gladness, 
the  natural  result  will  be  that  your  lover  will  tire  of  you. 
I  introduce  this  subject  here,  not  because  I  wish  to,  but 
because  I  am  compelled  to,  in  order  to  explain  what  I 
have  to  say  upon  the  habit  and  love  of  flirting. 

To  become  a  flirt  is  to  metamorphose  into  a  disgust- 
ing passion  that  which,  by  natural  constitution,  is  a 
harmless  and  useful  instinct.  This  instinct  of  coquetry, 
which  makes  a  woman  a  thing  to  be  won,  and  which  J 


From   Girlhood  to  Womanhood.  83 

suppose  all  women  are  conscious  of  possessing  in  some 
degree,  is  not  a  thing  to  be  cultivated  or  developed,  at 
all.  It  should  be  left  to  itself,  unstimulated  and  unper- 
verted,  and  if,  in  the  formative  stage  of  your  woman- 
hood, by  initiating  shallow  attachments  and  heartlessly 
breaking  them,  or  seeking  to  make  impressions  for  the 
sake  of  securing  attentions  which  are  repaid  by  insult 
and  negligence,  you  do  violence  to  your  nature,  you 
make  of  yourself  a  woman  whom  your  own  sex  despise, 
and  whom  all  sensible  men  who  do  not  mean  to  cheat 
you  with  insincerities  as  mean  as  yours,  are  afraid  of. 
They  will  not  love,  and  they  will  not  trust  you.  This 
instinct,  then,  is  not  a  thing  to  be  harmlessly  played 
with  ;  and  I  know  of  few  more  unhappy  and  disgusting 
sights  than  a  girl  bringing  into  her  womanhood  this 
passion — harmful  alike  to  herself  and  others. 

The  natural  and  inevitable  influence  of  the  devotion 
of  your  thoughts — spoken,  written,  or  unexpressed — to 
beaux  and  the  subject  of  marriage,  while  your  mind  is 
undergoing  a  process  of  crystallization,  is  to  deter  that 
process,  to  vitiate  it,  and  to  make  you  unworthy  in  many 
ways.  It  is  all-important  to  you  at  this  time  to  have  the 
counsel  of  a  good,  sensible  woman,  who  shall  be  your 
senior  by  at  least  ten  years.  She  should  be  a  married 
woman,  and,  by  all  means,  your  mother,  unless  there 
be  some  natural  bar  to  entire  communion  between  you. 
Do  nothing,  and  give  a  cherished  entertainment  to  no 
thoughts  which  you  are  unwilling  to  reveal  to  this  wo- 


84  Titcomb's  Letters. 

man.  If  your  companions  persist  in  keeping  subjects! 
of  this  character  before  your  mind,  leave  them — cut 
them. 

It  is  necessary  that,  while  your  education  is  actively 
in  progress,  your  perceptions  be  kept  healthful,  and 
your  sentiments  unperverted  by  thoughtless  tampering 
with  a  subject  which  you  will  some  time  come  to  know 
is  one  of  the  most  serious  moment.  It  spoils  a  girl  to 
get  the  idea  into  her  head,  that  marriage  is  the  chief  end 
of  woman,  that  education  is  but  a  preparation  for  mat- 
rimony, and  that  accomplishments  are  nothing  but 
contrivances  for  catching  a  husband.  And  now,  young 
woman,  whose  eye  traces  these  lines,  I  ask  you  to  de- 
cide how  much  of  this  letter  belongs  to  you.  How  are 
you  living  ?  What  is  the  principal  subject  of  your 
thoughts  ?  I  know  that  I  reveal  some  young  women  to 
themselves  ;  and  I  only  fear  that  they  will  find  them- 
selves so  bound  to  their  seductive  thoughts  and  fancies — 
so  dissipated  and  enervated  by  them — that  they  have 
not  moral  strength  enough  left  to  break  away  from  them 


LETTER   III. 

ACQUISITIONS  AND  ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 

Show  us  how  divine  a  thing 
A  woman  may  be  made. 

— Wordsworth. 

IT  is  a  matter  of  special  importance  to  you  that  you 
comprehend  and  thoroughly  appreciate  the  difference 
between  accomplishments  and  scientific  and  literary 
acquisitions.  A  woman  may  have  many  acquisitions, 
and  no  accomplishments,  in  the  usual  meaning  of  that 
word,  and  vice  versa.  As  the  life  of  the  woman  goes  in 
this  country,  these  acquisitions  perform  their  most  im- 
portant office  in  the  process  by  which  they  are  achieved; 
— that  is,  the  great  work  which  they  do  for  a  woman  is 
that  of  training  and  disciplining  her  mind.  Many  a 
woman  thoroughly  learned  Algebra  at  school,  with  de- 
cided advantage  to  herself,  who  never  makes  a  practical 
use  of  Algebra.  She  may  have  been  a  good  Latin  or 
Greek  scholar,  but,  having  no  important  use  for  her 
acquisition  in  practical  life,  she  suffers  her  knowledge 
of  those  languages  to  fade  out.     In  short,  there  are  very 


S6  Tit  comb's  Letters. 

few  of  her  text-books  which,  in  five  years  after  leaving 
school,  she  would  not  be  obliged  to  review  with  the 
severest  study  before  she  could  reacquire  the  credit  she 
won  in  her  last  examination.  A  woman  may  have  a 
pet  acquisition  which  she  transforms,  by  her  manner  of 
treatment,  into  an  accomplishment.  Botany  is  thus 
transformed,  not  unfrequently,  into  a  very  graceful 
thing. 

An  accomplishment  differs  from  a  science,  or  a  sys- 
tem of  truth  of  any  kind,  acquired  during  the  process 
of  education,  in  that  it  needs  to  be  permanent,  and  so 
far  as  possible  perfect,  to  be  of  any  use  to  the  individual 
or  to  society.  Music,  drawing,  conversation,  composi- 
tion, the  French  language,  dancing — all  these  in  Amer- 
ica are  regarded  as  accomplishments  ;  yet  of  fifty  wo- 
men who  acquire  either  of  them,  or  all  of  them,  not 
more  than  two  retain  them. 

Miss  Georgiana  Aurelia  Atkins  Green  was  an  intimate 
friend  of  mine,  or,  rather,  perhaps  I  should  say,  her 
mother's  brother  boarded  my  horse,  and  I  bought  my 
meat  of  her  father.  It  was  the  determination  of  Mrs. 
Green  that  her  daughter  should  be  a  finished  lady. 
During  the  finishing  process  I  saw  but  little  of  her.  It 
occupied  three  years,  and  was  performed  at  a  fashion- 
able boarding-school,  between  the  ages  of  fifteen  and 
eighteen,  regardless  of  expense.  When  she  was  finished 
off,  she  was  brought  home  in  triumph,  and  exhibited  on 
various  occasions  to  crowds  of  admiring  friends.     I  went 


Acquisitions  and  Accomplishments.        87 

one  evening  to  see  her.  She  was  really  very  pretty,  and 
took  up  her  role  with  spirit,  and  acted  it  admirably.  I 
saw  a  portfolio  lying  upon  her  piano,  and  knowing  that 
I  was  expected  to  seize  upon  it  at  once,  I  did  so,  against 
Miss  Green's  protestation,  which  she  was  expected  to 
make,  of  course.  I  found  in  it  various  pencil  drawings, 
a  crayon  head  of  the  infant  Samuel,  and  a  terrible  ship- 
wreck in  India  ink.  The  sketches  were  not  without 
merit.  These  were  all  looked  over,  and  praised,  of 
course.  Then  came  the  music.  This  was  some  years 
ago,  and  the  most  that  I  remember  is  that  she  played 
O  Dolce  Concento  with  the  variations,  and  the  Battle  of 
Prague,  the  latter  of  which  the  mother  explained  to  me 
during  its  progress.  The  pieces  were  cleverly  executed, 
and  then  I  undertook  to  talk  with  the  young  woman.  I 
gathered  from  her  conversation  that  Mrs.  Martinet,  the 
principal  of  the  school  where  she  had  been  finished,  was 
a  lady  of  "  so  much  style  !  "  that  Miss  Kittleton  of  New 
York  was  the  dearest  girl  in  the  school,  and  that  she 
(Georgiana)  and  the  said  Kittleton  were  such  friends 
that  they  always  dressed  alike  ;  and  that  Miss  Kittle- 
ton's  brother  Fred  was  a  magnificent  fellow.  The  last 
was  said  ;vith  a  blush,  from  the  embarrassments  of  which 
she  escaped  gracefully  by  stating  that  the  old  Kittleton 
was  a  banker,  and  rolled  in  money. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  the  parents  of  this  dear  girl 
admired  her  profoundly.  I  pitied  her  and  them,  and 
determined,  as  a  matter  of  duty,  that  I  would  show  her 


88  Titcomb's  Letters. 

just  how  much  her  accompHshments  were  worth.  1 
accordingly  asked  of  my  wife  the  favor  to  invite  the 
whole  family  to  tea,  in  a  quiet  way.  They  all  came,  on 
the  appointed  evening,  and  after  the  tea  was  over,  I  ex- 
pressed my  delight  that  there  was  one  young  lady  in 
our  neighborhood  who  could  do  something  to  elevate 
the  tone  of  our  society.  I  then  drew  out,  in  a  careless 
way,  a  letter  I  had  just  received  from  a  Frenchman,  and 
asked  of  Miss  Georgiana  the  favor  to  read  it  to  me.  She 
took  the  letter,  blushed,  went  half  through  the  first  line 
correctly,  then  broke  down  on  a  simple  word,  and  con- 
fessed that  she  could  not  read  it.  It  was  a  little  cruel ; 
but  I  wished  to  do  her  good,  and  proceeded  with  my 
experiment.  I  took  up  a  piece  of  music,  and  asked  her 
if  she  had  seen  it.  She  had  not.  I  told  her  there  was 
a  pleasure  in  store  for  both  of  us.  I  had  heard  the  song 
once,  and  I  would  try  to  sing  it  if  she  would  play  the 
accompaniment.  She  declared  she  could  not  do  it  with- 
out practice,  but  I  told  her  she  was  too  modest  by  half. 
So  I  dragged  her,  protesting,  to  the  piano.  She  knew 
she  would  break  down.  I  knew  she  would,  and  she 
did.  Well,  I  would  not  let  her  rise,  for  as  Mr.  and  Mrs, 
Green  were  fond  of  the  old-fashioned  church  music, 
and  had  been  singers  in  their  day,  and  in  their  way,  I 
selected  an  old  tune,  and  called  them  to  the  piano  to 
assist.  Miss  Green  gave  us  the  key,  and  we  started  off 
in  fine  style.  It  was  a  race  to  see  which  would  come 
out  ahead.     Georgiana  won,   by  skipping  most   of  the 


Acquisitions  and  AccomplisJuncnts.        89 

notes.     She  rose  from  the  piano  with  her  checks  as  red 
as  a  beet. 

*'  By  the  way,"  said  I,  "  Georgiana,  your  teacher  cf 
drawing  must  have  been  an  excellent  one."  I  did  not 
tell  her  that  I  had  seen  evidence  of  this  in  her  own 
efforts  in  art,  but  I  touched  the  right  spring,  and  the 
lady  gave  me  the  teacher's  credentials,  and  told  me 
what  such  and  such' people  had  said  of  her.  ^' Well," 
said  I,  "  I  am  glad  if  there  is  one  young  woman  who  has 
learned  drawing  properly.  Now  you  have  nothing  to 
do  but  to  practise  your  delightful  art,  and  you  must  do 
something  for  the  benefit  of  your  friends.  I  promised  a 
sketch  of  my  house  to  a  particular  friend,  at  a  distance, 
and  you  shall  come  up  to-morrow  and  make  one.  I  re- 
member that  beautiful  cottage  among  your  sketches  ; 
and  I  should  prize  a  sketch  of  my  own,  even  half  as  well 
done,  very  highly."  The  poor  girl  was  blushing  again, 
and  from  the  troubled  countenances  of  her  parents,  I 
saw  that  they  had  begun  indistinctly  to  comprehend  the 
shallowness — the  absolute  worthlessness — of  the  accom- 
plishments that  had  cost  them  so  much,  Georgiana  ac- 
knowledged that  she  had  never  sketched  from  nature^ 
that  her  teacher  had  never  required  it  of  her,  and  that 
she  had  no  confidence  that  she  could  sketch  so  simple 
an  object  as  my  house.  The  Greens  took  an  early  leave, 
and  I  regret  to  say  a  cool  one.  They  were  mortified, 
and  there  was  not  good  sense  enough  in  the  girl  to  make 
an  improvement  of  the  hints  I  had  given  her. 


QO  TitcomJjs  Letters. 

The  Green  family  resided  upon  a  street  that  I  alvvayj 
took  on  \wy  way  to  the  post-office,  and  there  was  rarely 
a  pleasant  evening  that  did  not  show  their  parlor  alight, 
and  company  within  it.  I  heard  the  same  old  varia- 
tions of  O  Dolce  Concento  evening  after  evening.  The 
Battle  of  Prague  was  fought  over  and  over  again.  The 
portfolio  of  drawings  (such  of  them  as  had  not  been 
expensively  framed)  was  exhibited,  I  doubt  not,  to  ad- 
miring friends  until  they  were  soiled  with  thumbing. 
At  last,  Georgiana  was  engaged,  and  then  she  was  mar- 
ried— married  to  a  very  good  fellow,  too.  He  loved 
music,  loved  painting,  and  loved  his  wife.  Two  years 
passed  away;  and  I  determined  to  ascertain  how  the 
pair  got  along.  She  was  the  mother  of  a  fine  boy  whom 
I  knew  she  would  be  glad  to  have  me  see.  I  called,  was 
treated  cordially,  and  saw  the  identical  old  portfolio,  on 
the  identical  old  piano.  I  asked  the  favor  of  a  tune. 
The  husband  with  a  sigh  informed  me  that  Georgiana 
had  dropped  her  music.  I  looked  about  the  walls,  and 
saw  the  crayon  Samuel,  and  the  awful  shipwreck  in 
India  ink.  Alas  !  the  echoes  of  the  Battle  of  Prague 
that  came  back  over  the  field  of  memory,  and  these 
iading  mementoes  around  me,  were  all  that  remained 
of  the  accomplishments  of  the  late  Miss  Georgiana 
Aurelia  Atkins  Green  ! 

Now,  young  woman,  I  think  you  will  not  need  any  as- 
surance from  me  that  I  have  drawn  a  genuine  portrait, 
for  which  any  number  of  your  accpiaintances  may  have 


Acquisitions  and  Accomplishments.        91 

played  the  original.  What  do  you  think  of  accomphsh- 
ments  Hke  these  ?  How  much  do  they  amount  to  ?  My 
opinion  of  them  is  that  they  are  the  shabbiest  of  all 
things  that  can  be  associated  with  a  woman's  life  and 
history.  I  have  told  you  this  story  in  order  to  show  you 
the  importance  of  incorporating  your  accomplishments 
with  your  very  life.  It  is  comparatively  an  easy  task  to 
learn  a  few  tunes  by  rote  ;  to  get  up,  with  the  assistance 
of  a  teacher,  a  few  drawings  ;  to  go  through  with  a  few 
French  exercises  ;  but  it  is  not  so  easy  to  learn  the 
science  of  music,  and  go  through  the  manual  practice 
necessary  to  make  the  science  available  under  all  cir- 
cumstances. It  is  not  easy  to  sketch  with  facility  from 
nature.  It  is  not  easy  to  comprehend  the  genius  of  the 
French  language,  and  so  to  familiarize  yourself  with  it 
that  it  shall  ever  remain  an  open  language  to  you,  and 
give  you  a  key  to  a  new  literature.  A  true  accomplish- 
ment is  won  only  by  hard  work  ;  but  when  it  is  won>  it 
is  a  part  of  you,  which  nothing  but  your  own  neglect  can 
take  away  from  you. 

And  now  let  me  tell  you  a  secret.  Multitudes  of 
married  men  are  led  to  seek  the  society  of  other  wo- 
men, or  go  out  among  their  own  fellows,  and  often  into 
bad  habits,  because  they  have  drunk  every  sweet  of 
life  which  their  wives  can  give  them.  They  have  heard 
all  their  tunes,  seen  all  their  efforts  at  art,  sounded 
their  minds,  and  measured  every  charm,  and  they  see 
that  henceforth  there  is   nothing  in   the  society  of  theii 


92  TitcomV s  Letters. 

wives  but  insipidity.  They  married  women  of  acconi' 
plishments,  but  they  see  never  a  new  development  oi 
any  improvement.  Their  wives  can  do  absolutely  noth- 
ing.    The  shell  is  broken  ;  the  egg  is  eaten. 

The  first  accomplishment  that  I  would  urge  upon 
you,  is  that  of  using  the  English  language  with  cor- 
rectness, elegance,  and  facility.  There  are,  compara- 
tively, few  young  women  who  can  write  a  good  note. 
I  know  of  hardly  one  who  can  punctuate  her  sentences 
properly.  I  beg  of  you  never  to  write  affection  with 
a  singley,  or  friendship  without  an  i  in  the  first  syllable. 
Such  slips  destroy  the  words,  and  the  sentiments  they 
represent.  If  you  accomplish  yourself  in  nothing  else, 
learn  thoroughly  how  to  use  your  mother  tongue.  I 
remember  one  young  woman  with  whom,  when  in 
youth,  I  had  the  misfortune  to  correspond.  In  the 
barrenness  of  subjects  upon  which  to  engage  her  pen, 
she  once  inquired  by  note  whether  I  ever  saw  such  '^  a 
spell  of  wether,"  as  we  had  been  having.  I  frankly 
informed  her  that  I  never  did,  and  that  I  hoped  she 
would  never  indulge  in  such  another,  for  it  made  me 
cool.  She  took  the  hint,  and  broke  off  the  correspon- 
dence. 

There  are  many  who  can  write  tolerably  well,  but 
who  cannot  talk.  Conversation  I  am  inclined  to  rank 
among  the  greatest  accomplishments  and  the  greatest 
arts.  ISlatural  aptness  has  much  to  dp  with  this,  but  no 
woman  can  talk  well  who  has  not  a  good  stock  of  defi- 


Acquisitions  a?id  Accomplishments.        93 

nite  information.  I  may  add  to  this,  that  no  woman 
talks  well  and  satisfactorily  who  reads  for  the  simple 
purpose  of  talking.  There  must  exist  a  genuine  in- 
terest in  the  affairs  which  most  concern  all  men  and 
women.  The  book,  magazine,  and  newspaper  literature 
of  the  time,  questions  of  public  moment,  all  matters 
and  movements  relating  to  art,  affairs  of  local  interest 
— all  these  a  woman  may  know  something  of,  and 
know  something  definitely.  Of  all  these  she  can  talk 
if  she  will  try,  because  there  is  something  in  all  which 
excites  feeling  of  some  kind,  and  shapes  itself  into 
opinion. 

But  whatever  accomplishment  a  young  woman  at- 
tempts to  acquire,  let  her  by  all  means  acquire  it 
thoroughly  and  keep  it  bright.  Accomplishments  all 
occupy  the  field  of  the  arts.  They  are  things  which 
have  no  significance  or  value  save  in  the  ability  of 
doing.  They  become,  or  should  become,  the  exponents 
of  a  woman's  highest  personality.  They  are  her  most 
graceful  forms  of  self-expression,  and  into  them  she  can 
pour  the  stream  of  her  thoughts  and  fancies,  and 
through  them  utter  the  highest  language  of  her  na- 
ture and  her  culture.  Accomplishments  make  a  wo- 
man valuable  to  herself.  They  greatly  increase  her 
pleasure,  both  directly  in  the  practice,  and  indirectly 
through  the  pleasures  which  she  gives  to  society.  A 
truly  accomplished  woman — one  whose  thoughts  have 
come  naturally  to  flow  out  in  artistic  forms,  whether 


94  Tit  comb's  Letters. 

through  the  instrumentaHty  of  her  tongue,  her  pen,  hei 
pencil,  or  her  piano,  is  a  treasure  to  herself  and  to  so- 
ciety. Such  a  woman  as  this  would  I  have  you  to  be^ 
There  may  be  something  to  interfere  with  your  being 
all  this  ;  but  this  you  can  do  :  you  can  acquire  thor- 
oughly every  accomplishment  for  which  you  have  a 
natural  aptitude,  or  you  can  let  it  alone.  Do  not  be 
content  with  a  smattering  of  anything.  Do  not  be  con- 
tent to  play  parrot  to  your  teachers,  until  your  lesson  is 
learned,  and  then  think  you  are  accomplished.  Do  not 
be  content  with  mediocrity  in  any  accomplishment  you 
undertake.  Do  not  be  content  to  be  a  Miss  Georgiana 
Aurelia  Atkins  Green  ! 


LETTER  IV. 

UNREASONABLE  AND   INJURIOUS  RESTRAINTS 

Let  me  not  to  the  marriage  of  true  minds 
Admit  impediments. 

— Shakspere. 

I  SUPPOSE  that  most  men  have  observed  the  follow- 
ing facts,  from  which  I  propose  to  draw  a  lesson  : — ■ 
First,  that  young  married  women  have  a  peculiar  charm 
for  unmarried  young  men,  and  that  a  young  man's  first 
love  is  almost  uniformly  devoted  to  a  woman  older  than 
himself. 

A  marriageable  young  woman  occupies,  or  is  made  to 
occupy,  a  position  of  peculiar  hardship.  Our  theory  is 
that  a  woman  should  never  make  an  advance  towards 
the  man  she  loves  and  would  marry.  Such  a  step  is 
deemed  inconsistent  with  maiden  modesty.  I  do  not 
quarrel  with  this,  but  the  effect  has  been  to  make  young 
women,  who  possess  sensitive  natures,  hypocrites.  It 
ought  not  to  do  it,  but  it  does.  Every  modest  young 
woman,  possessing  a  good  degree  of  sagacity,  plays  a 
part,  almost  always,  when  in  the  society  of  young  men. 


gO  Titcomb' s  Letters. 

The  fear  is  that  by  some  word,  or  look,  or  act,  she  shall 
express  such  a  degree  of  interest  in  a  young  man  as 
shall  lead  him  to  believe  that  she  wishes  to  marry  him. 
Young  women  study  the  effect  of  their  language,  they 
often  shun  civilities,  they  put  on  an  artificial  and  con- 
strained style  of  behavior,  for  fear  that  some  complacent 
fool  will  misconstrue  them,  or  some  gentleman  whom 
they  wish  to  please  will  deem  them  too  forward,  and  so 
become  disgusted.  The  result  is,  that  a  man  rarely 
finds  out  either  the  best  or  the  worst  points  of  his  wife's 
character  before  he  marries  her.  Social  intercourse  is 
carried  on  under  a  kind  of  protest,  which  places  every 
young  woman  in  a  position  absolutely  false  before  the 
eyes  of  young  men.  Many  a  woman  owes  a  life  of  celi- 
bacy and  disappointment  to  the  fact  that  she  never  felt 
at  liberty  to  act  out  herself. 

With  these  statements,  it  is  very  easy  to  understand 
the  attractions  which  a  young  married  woman  has  for  a 
bachelor,  and  to  explain  the  phenomenon  of  a  young 
man  falling  in  love  with  a  woman  older  than  himself. 
In  the  first  instance,  a  married  woman  becomes 
agreeable  because  she  becomes  perfectly  natural  and 
unconstrained,  her  circumstances  allowing  all  the  more 
grateful  forms  of  politeness — the  cordial  greeting,  the  ^ 
complimentary  attentions,  and  the  free  conversation-— 
without  the  danger  of  being  misconstrued.  In  the  latter 
instance,  the  woman  throws  off  her  constraint  in  the 
same  manner,  because  she  is  in  the  society  of  one  whom 


Vnreasojtable  and  Injurious  Restraints.    97 

she  regards  as,  in  reality,  a  boy.  She  finds,  very  much 
to  her  surprise,  that  she  has  won  the  boy's  heart  ;  but  it 
was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  He  had  never 
had  a  sight'  of  a  woman's  nature  before.  The  girls  with 
whom  he  had  associated  had  always  worn  a  mask.  The 
real  hearts  behind  it  he  had  thus  far  failed  to  appre- 
hend. There  is  a  very  general  impression  among  the 
young  men  whose  affections  are  not  engaged  that  the 
best  women  are  married,  and  that  those  who  are  left  do 
not  amount  to  much.  They  will  think  differently  some 
time  or  other. 

Now  my  idea  is  that  this  universal  mask-wearing  sys- 
tem should  be  broken  up.  It  does  injustice  to  all  par- 
ties. If  there  is,  in  society,  any  poor  creature  in  the 
form  of  a  man  whose  vanity  is  so  open  to  flattery  that  a 
young  woman  cannot  treat  him  with  natural,  cordial 
politeness,  without  his  thinking  that  she  would  like  to 
marry  him,  and  is  trying  to  ensnare  him,  let  him  think 
so,  and  trust  to  time  and  circumstances  for  justice. 
Such  men  are  of  too  little  account  in  the  world  to  pay 
for  carrying  a  deceitful  face,  and  despoiling  the  inter- 
course of  the  young  of  its  sweetest  charms.  If  you  like 
the  society  of  young  men,  take  no  pains  to  conceal  it, 
but  treat  them  with  frank  cordiality.  No  true  gentle' 
man  among  them  will  misconstrue  you.  It  is  not  neces' 
sary  for  you  to  tell  them  that  you  calculate  to  live  a 
maiden  life.  They  know  you  lie.  It  will  not  do  to  in- 
dicate to  any  man  of  sense  that  you  do  not  like  the  at- 
5 


98  Titcomb' s  Letters. 

tentions  and  society  of  gentlemen,  for  he  knows  better 
He  knows,  at  least,  that  you  ought  to  like  them,  and 
that  if  you  do  not,  there  is  something  wrong  about  you. 
Don't  practise  deception  of  any  kind.  A  man  who  is 
frank  and  open-hearted  with  you,  deserves  to  be  met 
with  a  frank  and  open  heart  by  you  ;  and  in  ninety-nine 
cases  in  every  hundred,  men  will  be  honorable  and 
manly  with  you,  if  you  will  lay  aside  suspicion,  and 
trust  them.  If  a  man  prove  himself  unworthy  of  your 
confidence,  you  have  your  remedy.  Cut  him,  or  tell  him 
what  you  think  of  him,  and  bring  him  upon  his  knees. 

I  have  given  my  advice  without  many  qualifications, 
but  do  not  misconstrue  me.  I  write  upon  the  supposi- 
tion that  you  have  common  sense,  and  know  what  I 
mean.  Some  people,  I  suppose,  would  present  you 
with  a  formula  by  which  to  conduct  all  your  intercourse 
with  young  men.  I  know  a  large  number  of  fathers  and 
mothers  who  will  think  that,  upon  this  subject,  I  ought 
to  guard  my  language,  and  be  m.ore  particular  ;  but  I 
know  very  well  that  if  you  have  not  sense  and  prudence 
enough  to  take  this  general  counsel,  and  use  it  judi- 
ciously, no  qualifications  that  I  could  make  would  be  of 
any  service  to  you. 

1  \XMS\.  yoti.  I  believe  you  are  virtuous  young  women, 
with  pure  hearts  and  true  intentions  ;  and  I  know  there 
is  no  danger  to  you  until  you  cease  to  be  such.  You 
have  an  instinct— God's  word  in  your  own  souls— that 
tells  you  when  a  man  takes  the  first  wrong  step  towards 


Unreasonable  and  Injurious  Restraints,    99 

you  ;  and  if  you  do  not  repel  that  step  in  such  a  mannei 
that  it  will  never  be  repeated,  do  you  suppose  that  any- 
thing I  could  say  to  you  would  do  you  any  good  ?  I  say 
this  :  that  perfect  frankness  and  cordiality  in  the  treat- 
ment of  young  men  are  entirely  consistent  with  the 
safety  of  any  true  woman  from  insult  or  offensive  famil- 
iarity. Is  your  father  afraid  to  trust  you  out  of  his  sight  ? 
I  am  not.  If  I  were,  I  would  be  ashamed  to  confess  it, 
particularly  if  you  were  a  daughter  of  mine.  I  believe 
in  you,  and  I  believe,  moreover,  that  if  this  contempt- 
ible idea  that  men  are  your  natural  enemies,  and  that 
you  must  cheat  them  and  look  out  for  them,  could  be 
got  out  of  the  way,  and  a  free  and  unconstrained  social 
intercourse  established  between  you  and  them,  they 
would  be  much  better,  and  you  altogether  safer  for  it. 

There  is  another  subject,  more  or  less  intimately 
associated  with  this,  which  may  as  well  be  treated  here. 
It  is  very  natural  for  young  women  to  get  in  the  habit 
of  treating  only  those  young  men  politely  whom  they 
happen,  for  various  reasons,  to  fancy.  They  "  don't 
care  "  what  the  majority  of  young  men  think  of  them, 
provided  they  retain  the  good  will  of  their  particular 
pets.  They  are  whimsical,  and  take  on  special  and 
strong  likes  or  dislikes  for  the  young  men  whom  they 
meet.  One  is  "  perfectly  hateful,"  and  another  is  "  per- 
fectly splendid,"  and  so  they  proceed  to  make  fools  of 
themselves  over  both  parties.  Now  there  is  nothing 
upon  which  a  young  man  is  so  sensitive  as  this  matter 


lOO  Titcomb's  Letters. 

of  being  treated  with  polite  consideration  by  the  young 
women  of  his  acquaintance  ;  and  I  know  of  nothing 
which  will  tend  more  certainly  to  make  a  young  man 
hateful  than  to  treat  him  as  if  he  were  so.  There  is  a 
multitude  of  young  men  whose  self-respect  is  nurtured, 
whose  ambition  is  quickened,  and  whose  hearts  are 
warmed  with  a  genial  fire,  by  those  considerate  recog- 
nitions on  the  part  of  their  female  acquaintances  which 
assure  them  that  they  have  a  position  in  the  esteem  of 
those  with  whom  they  associate  the  sweetest  hopes  and 
happiness  of  life.  To  be  cut  for  no  good  cause  is  to  re- 
ceive a  wound  which  is  not  easily  healed. 

The  duty,  therefore,  which  I  would  inculcate  is  that 
of  systematic  politeness.  If  you  know  a  young  man, 
bow  to  him  when  you  meet  him.  He  will  not  bow  to 
you  first,  for  he  waits  for  your  recognition.  He  does 
not  know  whether  you  esteem  him  of  sufficient  value  to 
be  recognised.  If  you  pass  him  without  a  recognition, 
you  say  to  him,  in  a  language  which  he  feels  with  a 
keenness  which  you  cannot  measure,  that  you  consider 
him  beneath  your  notice.  You  plant  in  his  heart  imme- 
diately a  prejudice  against  yourself.  You  disturb  him. 
You  hurt  him,  and  this,  too,  let  me  admit,  very  fre- 
quently without  design.  You  are  sensitive  yourself,  and 
are  afraid  he  has  forgotten  you.  You  think,  perhaps, 
that  he  would  not  like  to  notice  you,  and  would  not  like 
to  have  you  notice  him.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  this 
kind  of  thing,  doubtless,  but  it  is  all  wrong.     Therf  is 


Unreasonable  and  Injurious  Restraints.  loi 

no  man  who  will  not  return  your  bow,  and  feel  the  bet- 
ter for  your  smile  ;  and  if  the  young  man  receiving  the 
attention  is  poor,  and  has  his  position  in  the  world  to 
win,  and  feels  that  he  has  not  as  many  attractions,  per- 
sonal or  circumstantial,  as  others,  you  have  made  his 
heart  light,  and  awakened  towards  yourself  a  feeling  of 
cordial  good  will,  akin  in  many  instances  to  gratitude. 

A  young  woman  w^ho  is  afraid  of  compromising  her 
position  by  recognising  men  out  of  her  set,  or  out  of  a 
certain  line  of  genteel  occupations,  shows  by  how  frail  a 
tenure  she  holds  her  own  respectability.  I  could  name 
to  you  women  who  have  not  only  a  recognised  but  a 
commanding  position  in  the  best  society,  w4io  are  as 
uniformly  and  systematically  polite  to  the  clerk  who 
sells  them  silks,  as  to  the  pets  of  their  circle  ;  who  have 
a  bow  and  a  smile  for  all  with  whom  they  have  ever 
been  thrown  into  personal  relations,  and  who,  by  this 
very  politeness,  more  than  by  any  other  self-expression, 
vindicate  their  place  among  those  whom  society  calls 
ladies.  There  is  a  kind  word  for  them  in  every  young 
man's  mouth  :  and  no  young  man  would  ever  think  of 
presuming  upon  such  politeness  for  the  indulgence  of 
an  offensive  familiarity.  Such  women  have  a  sacredness 
in  his  eyes  that  no  other  women  possess,  and  he  would 
offend  them  in  no  way,  for  the  world. 

The  advice  I  have  given  you  in  these  matters  is  partly 
for  the  benefit  of  your  sex,  and  partly  for  mine.  I  be- 
lieve that  there  should  be  a  far  more  rational  mode  of 


I02  Titconib's  Letters. 

intercourse  between  young  men  and  young  women  thau 
at  present  exists.  I  believe  that  every  legitimate  attrac- 
tion that  your  society  has  for  young  men  should  be  free 
and  unconstrained.  I  believe  that  there  is  no  good 
reason  why  a  young  married  woman  should  be  more; 
attractive  to  a  bachelor  than  yourselves,  and  that  in  the 
degree  in  which  they  are  more  attractive,  do  you  wrong 
yourselves  and  the  young  men  of  your  acquaintance.  I 
believe  that  it  is  well  for  you,  and  well  for  young  men, 
that  they  should  be  attracted  to  you  by  a  frank  behavior 
on  your  part,  which  will  place  them  at  their  ease,  and 
exercise  upon  them  all  that  good  influence  which  a  pure, 
strong,  outspoken  female  nature  is  so  well  calculated  to 
exert. 

Young  men  and  young  women,  to  use  a  cant  phrase 
of  the  day,  are  "  in  the  same  boat."  But  a  few  years 
will  pass  away  before  they  will  be  the  bosom  compan- 
ions of  each  other,  and  the  fathers  and  mothers  of  the 
land.  It  matters  everything  to  them  that  they  under- 
stand each  other;  and  to  this  end,  in  my  judgment,  an 
intercourse  between  them  should  be  established  upon  a 
very  different  basis  from  that  which  is  now  maintained 
by  society.  It  should  be  more  simple,  more  ample, 
more  natural,  more  trustful,  and  more  heartily  consid- 
erate. There  is  nothing  in  the  history  of  the  race  to 
prove  that  anything  has  ever  been  preserved  or  won  to 
virtue  by  a  sys^tem  of  essential  falsehood,  or  a  policy  of 
arbitrary  constraint.     Many  a  girl  feels    this^  and  will 


Uitreasonable  and  Injurious  Restraints.  103 

feel  it  to  her  dying  day.  To  tie  a  young  woman  up  to 
the  meanly  cautious  conventionalisms  of  the  day,  is  to 
prepare  her  as  a  helpless  sacrifice  to  the  first  design- 
ing villain  who  insinuates  himself  into  her  confidence. 
Many  a  woman  groans  to-day  in  bondage  to  a  drunk- 
ard, a  libertine,  or  a  dolt,  who  only  needed  to  have  been 
allowed  to  know  men  better  to  have  secured  a  proper 
companion. 

I  say,  then,  to  you,  young  women,  reform  this  thing 
altogether.  It  is  in  your  hands.  I  give  you  the  idea  : 
I  leave  you  to  carry  it  into  practice.  You  do  not  need 
that  I  should  tell  you  how  to  do  it.  If  you  are  not 
vicious,  there  is  nothing  for  you,  in  your  mind  and 
heart,  to  conceal.  Be  simply  yourselves,  taking  all 
possible  care  to  make  yourselves  what  you  should  be. 
Learn  to  think  kindly  of  all  young  men,  save  those 
who,  you  have  reason  to  believe,  possess  black  hearts 
and  foul  intentions — those  who  are  enemies  of  your  sex 
and  social  purity.  Treat  every  young  man  well,  both 
for  his  sake  and  your  own.  You  shall  thus  be  the  light 
of  many  eyes,  and  your  kind  heart,  thorough  good  man- 
ners, and  transparent  nature,  cannot  fail  to  attract  to 
you  those  whose  true  nobility  is  the  most  strongly 
touched  by  that  which  is  best  in  womanhood.  One  of 
those  will  become  your  companion,  I  am  inclined  to 
think,  if  human  nature,  meanwhile,  do  not  suffer  some 
remarkable  change. 


LETTER  V. 

THE  CLAIMS  OF  LOVE  AND  LUCRE. 

Maidens,  like  moths,  are  ever  caught  by  glare. 

And  Mammon  wins  his  way  where  Seraphs  might  despair. 

— Byron. 

YOU  calculate  when  you  are  married  to  be  married 
to  the  man  you  love,  and  no  other  ;  yet  there  are 
a  good  many  chances  that  you  will  be  influenced  in 
your  choice  by  other  considerations.  But  you  should 
never  think  of  marrying  a  man  simply  because  you  love 
him.  You  may  love  a  man  who  has  personal  habits 
that  will  make  you  miserable.  You  may  love  a  man  so 
lazy  or  so  inefficient  that  your  whole  life  will  be  neces- 
sarily a  continued  struggle  with  poverty.  You  may  love 
a  man  who  has  no  adaptation  to  you — who  is  surly  and 
stupid  and  unresponsive  :  who  can  give  no  satisfactory 
return  of  your  affection,  and  who  will  repulse  every 
demonstration  of  your  fondness.  You  may  love  a  man 
who  is  supremely  selfish.  When  you  become  bound 
for  life  to  a  man,  he  should  be  one  who  can  make  you 
happier  than  you  would  be  alone.     There  are  doubtless 


The  Claims  of  Love  and  Lucre,         105 

some  instances  of  a  love  so  noble  and  so  self-sacrificing 
that  it  Avill  welcome  poverty  and  want,  with  the  object 
of  its  desire,  as  being  far  better  than  riches  without 
it  I  will  not  quarrel  with  this.  I  only  say  that,  gen- 
erally, competence  (I  do  not  mean  wealth)  is  necessary 
to  that  degree  of  comfort  without  which  love  fails  of  its 
sweetest  exercises  and  most  grateful  rewards.  Love  for 
a  man  is  only  one  reason  why  you  should  marry  him. 
There  may  be  a  round  dozen  of  reasons  why  you  should 
not. 

A  woman's  heart  is  a  very  queer  thing,  on  the  whole. 
It  falls  in  love  in  the  most  unaccountable  way,  with  the 
most  unaccountable  men.  It  is  a  hard  thing  to  reason 
with,  and  a  much  harder  thing  to  reason  about,  yet 
there  are  some  things  which  may  be  said  to  those  whose 
judgment  is  not  yet  blinded  by  a  passion  that  contemns 
reason.  You  should  marry  a  man  to  whom  you  will 
be  willing  to  bend,  or  one  whom  you  know  you  can 
manage  without  his  knowledge,  or  with  his  consent. 
The  instances  arc  verv  rare  in  which  two  strong  wills 
can  harmonize  in  close  companionship.  They  must 
both  be  governed  by  principle,  and  be  mutually  forbear- 
ing from  principle.  I  have  seen  noble  instances  of  this, 
but  not  often.  The  law  of  nature  is  that  the  wife  shall 
bend  to  the  husband — that  her  will  shall,  at  last,  be  sub- 
ject ;  yet  there  are  instances  of  true  affection  between 
man  and  woman  in  which  subjection  on  the  part  of 
the  man  becomes  the  law  of  nature,  the  woman's  judg- 
5* 


io6  TitconilPs  Letters. 

ment  being  the  best,  and  her  will  the  strongest.  In 
these  cases,  the  female  mind  possesses  masculine  char* 
acteristics  and  the  male  mind  feminine  characteristics  ; 
and  it  is  just  as  proper  that  her  mind  should  govern  in 
these  instances  as  that  the  male  mind  should  govern  in 
others.  But  there  is  something  unnatural  in  this,  after 
all — or  something,  I  should  say,  out  of  the  common 
order  of  things. 

If  a  woman  sincerely  believe  that  there  is  no  man  to 
whose  will  she  can  gladly  subordinate  her  own,  let  her 
seek  out  a  feminine  man,  and  make  suit  for  his  hand. 
A  noted  female  vocalist,  whom  all  of  us  love,  had  the 
credit  of  doing  this.  He  gave  up  even  his  religion  for 
her,  though  that  may  not  have  cost  him  much.  I  pre- 
sume that  she  governs  him,  and  I  have  yet  to  learn  that 
the  union  is  not  thoroughly  a  happy  one.  After  all,  if 
the  lady  were  a  graceful  subject  of  a  kingly  intellect,  I 
cannot  help  thinking  that  she  would  be  in  a  more  nat- 
ural position,  and  one  in  which  she  would  be  happier 
than  she  is  now. 

You  are  placed  in  a  position  of  peculiar  temptation. 
You  have  ambitions  to  be  something  more  than  pretty, 
accomplished,  and  loved — at  least,  some  of  you  have. 
You  want  a  career.  As  a  woman,  you  see  that  you  can- 
not have  one,  save  through  a  matrimonial  connection. 
You  wish  to  do  something — to  be  something — to  be  mis- 
tress of  an  establishment,  or  to  be  associated  with  one 
who  has  the  public  eye,  or  the  public  consideration.     It 


The  Claims  of  Love  and  Lucre.         107 

IS  thus  that  weahh  and  position  come  to  you  with  very 
great  temptations.  A  man  of  weahh  or  a  man  of  power 
offers  you  his  hand,  and,  unless  he  is  absolutely  repul- 
sive, he  will  generally  get  it.  You  will  try  to  love  him, 
or  learn  to  love  him,  or  think  you  love  him  ;  or  perhaps 
you  will  take  a  mercenary  or  a  worldly  view  of  the  whole 
matter,  and  marry  him  for  what  of  wealth  and  position  he 
can  bring  you.  Now  all  this  marrying  for  money,  or 
for  position,  or  for  any  other  consideration,  when  genu- 
ine love  is  absent,  is  essential  prostitution.  I  know  of 
no  difference  between  selling  one's  self  for  a  lifetime, 
and  that  sale  of  the  soul  and  body  which  is  made  in  the 
house  of  her  whose  steps  take  hold  on  hell.  If  you  find 
yourself  willing  to  give  up  yourself  to  a  man  in  a  life- 
long connection  for  the  house  he  gives  you,  for  the  silks 
and  furs  with  which  he  clothes  you,  for  the  society  into 
which  he  introduces  you,  for  the  position  with  which  he 
endows  you,  then,  whether  you  know  it  or  not,  you  be- 
come the  sister  of  the  drab  whom  you  so  inconsistently 
spurn  from  your  side.  In  fact,  the  motives  that  have 
made  her  what  she  is  may  be  white  by  the  side  of  yours. 
Marrying  for  love  may  seem  to  be  a  very  silly  thing  to 
a  woman  of  the  world  ;  but  marrying  without  love,  for 
a  consideration,  is  wicked.  "  Love  in  a  cottage  "  is 
laughed  at  by  very  "judicious  people,"  but  it  is  a  very 
sweet  thing  by  the  side  of  indifference  in  a  palace.  I 
know  of  nothing  more  disgusting  in  all  the  world  than 
that  mercenary  tie  which,  under  the  name  of  marriage. 


io8  Tit  comb's  Letters. 

binds  a  woman  to  the  bosom  of  one  who  bought  hei 
with  his  money. 

I  know  what  the  world  says  about  this  matter,  and  1 
very  heartily  despise  the  world  for  it.  When  I  ask  the 
world  if  Jane  has  ''made  out  well"  by  her  union,  and 
am  told  that  she  has  done  finely,  and  married  a  man 
worth  a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  I  am  tempted  to  be 
profane.  When  I  ask  the  world  how  Kate  has  settled, 
and  am  informed,  as  the  essential  portion  of  the  reply 
that  her  husband  is  "an  excellent  provider,"  I  am 
tempted  to  spit  in  its  face.  The  conventional  idea  of  a 
happy  and  proper  matrimonial  connection  is  so  mean 
and  so  arbitrary,  that  it  is  no  wonder  that  unsophisti- 
cated girls  sacrifice  themselves.  I  pity  them  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart.  They  cannot  have  even  the  repu- 
tation of  marrying  zveit  unless  they  allow  base  motives 
to  enter  into  their  calculations.  They  learn  early  to  aim 
at  wealth  or  position  as  primary  and  supremely  desira- 
ble  things.  A  brilliant  match,  in  the  eyes  of  the  world, 
atones  for  low  morals,  uncongenial  tastes,  and  lukewarm 
hearts. 

Now,  if  you  must  make  calculations,  let  me  help  you. 
Make  genuine  affection  the  first  thing.  This  is  abso- 
lutely indispensable.  It  takes  precedence  of  everything 
else.  You  are  not  at  liberty  to  consider  anything  before 
this.  A  union  based  upon  anything  else,  is,  as  I  have 
already  told  you,  essential  prostitution.  It  is  against 
nature — against  God's  most  wise  and  benevolent  inten' 


The  Claims  of  Love  and  Lucre.        log 

tions.  You  can  make  no  union  with  a  man,  not  based 
on  this,  that  will  give  you  happiness.  Friendship  alone 
will  not  do.  Esteem  alone  will  not  do.  The  idea  of  giv- 
ing yourself  to  a  man  simply  because  you  esteem  him, 
and  respect  him,  is  disgusting.  The  union  of  the  current 
of  your  life  with  that  of  a  man  is  the  great  event  of  your 
history,  and  if  this  be  not  through  those  natural  affini- 
ties, sympathies,  and  partialities — that  passion  of  your 
soul  which  heaven  intended  should  be  called  into  exer- 
cise by  manhood — then  it  is  only  a  conventional  union, 
and  no  union  in  fact.  Love,  then,  I  say,  is  the  essential 
thing,  and  yet  love,  as  I  have  said  before,  is  only  one 
thing.  There  may  be  in  the  man  who  excites  the  holiest 
and  strongest  passion  of  your  nature  many  things 
which,  if  you  value  peace — if  you  value  your  own  puri- 
ty, even — should  lead  you  to  pluck  that  passion  from 
your  breast,  and  turn  your  back  upon  its  object,  that 
God's  light  may  rest  upon  your  brow,  even  if  sorrow 
make  darkness  in  your  heart. 

It  is  hard  to  examine  character,  and  profit  by  the 
study,  after  the  heart  has  become  the  seat  of  an  absorb- 
ing passion  ;  but  it  is  indispensably  necessary  to  do  it 
sometimes.  It  is  far  better  that  the  passion  be  excited 
by  the  influence  of  character,  disposition,  and  bearing, 
but  when  study  becomes  necessary,  it  should  be  entered 
upon  conscientiously  ;  for  the  second  requisite  for  a 
happy  union  is  sound  character.  A  woman  possessing 
the  best  elements  of  womanhood  cannot  be  happy  with 


no  TitconiF <;  Letters. 

a  man  who  has  not  a  sound  character.  He  may  have  a 
good  dii position,  he  may  be  intelHgent,  he  may  have 
wealth  and  honor,  but  if  his  character  be  weak  or  faulty, 
she  has  no  reliance  ;  and  she  must  ultimately  lose  her 
respect  for  him.  When  respect  is  gone,  she  may  love, 
she  may  pity,  she  may  forgive,  but  she  cannot  be 
happy.  Disposition  comes  in  for  consideration  in  the 
third  place,  and  worldly  circumstances  in  the  fourth,  or 
perhaps  still  lower  in  the  scale.  I  might  speak  of  an- 
other thing,  requisite  to  happiness  in  the  highest  degree, 
but  I  will  not,  now  and  here. 

In  the  consideration  of  worldly  circumstances,  be 
wise.  Remember  that  if  your  lover  be  intelligent, 
healthy,  the  master  of  a  business  or  a  profession,  he 
stands  many  more  chances  to  die  in  the  possession  of 
wealth  or  competence  than  he  would  if  rich  now,  and 
without  a  settled  business  and  settled  purposes.  I  have 
watched  the  results  of  many  matches,  and  I  have  seen 
ten  which  started  with  a  fortune  to  be  acquired,  turn  out 
well  in  a  worldly  point  of  view,  where  I  have  seen  one 
result  happily,  starting  with  the  fortune  made.  If  a 
young  man  is  honorable,  intelligent,  industrious,  and 
manly  in  every  respect,  and  you  love  him,  marry  him. 
There  is  no  power  under  heaven  that  has  a  moral  right 
to  stand  between  you  and  your  happiness.  Many  a 
poor  girl  who  married  for  money  now  pines  in  poverty, 
and  covets  the  position  of  girls  whose  iviser  choice  she 
once  contemned. 


TJie  Claims  of  Love  and  Lticre.         1 1 1 

I  speak  in  this  way  for  two  reasons.  The  first  is,  that 
it  is  not  only  your  right  but  your  duty  to  consider 
whether  a  hfe  of  certain  poverty  will  be  compensated  by 
a  life  of  association  with  the  man  you  love.  The  second 
is,  that  when  you  take  this  matter  into  consideration 
you  should  make  your  judgment  upon  a  sound  basis. 
Wealth  in  hand,  without  business  habits,  business 
tastes,  and  business  interests,  is  the  most  unreliable 
thing  in  the  world.  It  may  even  spoil  a  good  lover  and 
in  time  transform  him  into  a  loafer  or  a  sot.  On  the 
contrary,  good  business  habits,  good  character,  enter- 
prise, ambition — all  these  combined — are  almost  sure  to 
secure  competence  and  success.  If  you  would  rely  on 
anything,  rely  on  these,  for  they  are  the  only  reliable 
things.  Misfortune  may  deal  harshly  vv'ith  these,  but 
that  is  the  business  of  Providence. 

I  fancy  one  reply  that  may  be  made  to  all  this  wise 
talk.  Women  practically  have  comparatively  little 
choice  in  the  matter.  They  grow  up  from  the  cradle 
with  the  idea  that  it  is  a  horrible  thing  to  live  and  die 
an  old  maid.  That,  in  the  minds  of  half  the  girls,  is  the 
most  terrible  thing  in  all  the  world.  They  can  abide 
anything  better  than  that.  So  they  feel  a  kind  of  obli- 
gation to  jump  at  the  first  offer,  they  are  so  much  afraid 
they  shall  never  have  another.  Let  them  remember 
that  a  mismated  match  is  much  worse  than  an  unmated 
life.  I  believe  that  marriage  is  the  true  condition,  and 
that  no  man  or  woman  can  fully  enjoy  life  unmarried  ; 


112  Titcoinh's  Letters. 

but  I  know  they  will  be  more  unhappy  if  they  are  badlj 
matched  than  if  not  matched  at  all.  But  women  have 
more  choice  than  they  think,  and  would  have  still  moie 
than  they  do,  if  their  intercourse  with  young  men  were 
placed  upon  the  basis  indicated  in  my  last  letter. 

Most  young  women  study  the  character  of  men  but 
little,  because  they  have  but  little  opportunity.  They 
see  comparatively  few,  and,  through  the  character  of 
their  intercourse,  know  them  very  incompletely.  It  is 
a  sin  and  a  sharne  that  young  women  enjoy  such  inferior 
opportunities  of  learning  the  character  of  young  men, — ■ 
of  weighing,  comparing.,  and  judging  them.  It  is  a 
shame  that  they  have  no  more  opportunities  for  a  choice. 
My  own  wife  very  fortunately  got  an  excellent  husband, 
but  it  is  something  for  which  she  is  to  be  grateful  to  an 
overruling  Providence,  for  her  own  knowledge  had  very 
little  to  do  with  it.  I  could  have  cheated  her  beyond  all 
account.  I  tell  you,  men  want  studying  for  some  years, 
before  you  find  them  out,  and  it  becomes  you  to  run 
fewer  risks  than  the  most  of  your  sex  run  in  this  busi- 
ness. It  is  a  good  deal  of  a  step  — this  getting  married — 
and  I  am  very  anxious  that  you  shall  know  a  great  many 
men,  that  you  shall  get  the  one  you  love,  that  he  shall 
be  worthy  of  you,  and  that  you  shall  be  happy  all  the 
days  of  your  life. 


LETTER   VI. 

THE  PRUDENT  A iXD  PROPER    USE  OF  LANGUAGE 

Of  all  the  griefs  that  harass  the  distressed, 
Sure  the  most  bitter  is  a  scornful  jest. 

— Samuel  Johnson. 

And  lovelier  things  have  mercy  shown 
To  every  failing  but  their  own, 
And  every  woe  a  tear  can  claim 
Except  an  erring  sister's  shame. 

— BVRON. 

1HAVE  met  with  a  good  many  young  women,  first 
and  last,  whose  intellects  were  of  that  keen,  quick 
variety  which  delights  in  uttering  sharp  things — often 
very  hard  things.  They  do  it,  at  first,  playfully  ;  they 
produce  a  laugh  which  flatters  them  ;  and  they  soon 
get  to  doing  it  wantonly.  They  acquire  an  appetite  for 
praise,  and  they  become  willing  to  procure  it  at  what- 
ever expense  to  others.  Genuine  wit  in  a  man  is  almost 
always  genial  ;  wit  in  a  woman,  however  genial  it  may 
be  at  first,  almost  always  gets  into  personalities  sooner 
or  later,  which  makes  it  very  dangerous  and  very  hate- 
ful.    Man  is  held  in  restraint,  whatever  his  tendencies 


114  Tit  comb's  Letters. 

may  be,  by  the  consideration  that,  as  a  man,  he  will  be 
held  responsible  for  his  words  ;  women  presume  upon 
the  fact  that  they  are  women,  in  taking  license  to  say 
what  they  choose  of  each  other,  and  of  men  in  particu- 
lar. There  is  not  always — perhaps  there  is  not  gener- 
ally— malice  in  these  sharp  and  hard  speeches,  but  they 
poison,  nevertheless.  They  poison  her  who  utters  them, 
and  they  poison  those  who  suffer  from  them.  The  ut- 
terer  becomes  the  student,  for  a  purpose,  of  the  weak 
points  of  her  friends,  and  they  learn  to  hate  her.  I 
have  known  not  a  few  women  whose  personal  witticisms 
were  enjoyed  by  the  gossip-loving  crowd  around  her, 
every  man  of  whom  would  as  soon  think  of  marrying  a 
tigress  as  the  one  he  was  flattering  by  the  applause  of 
his  laugh. 

Therefore  I  say  that  to  be  a  witty  woman  is  a  very 
dangerous  thing.  To  be  a  witty  woman  is  to  be  the 
subject  of  very  great  temptations,  for  personalities  form 
the  very  zest  of  gossip — an  employment  of  which  most 
women,  I  think,  know  something  by  experiment.  Men 
are  afraid  of  witty  women,  especially  those  who  delight 
in  making  cutting  speeches.  They  say,  very  rationally, 
that  if  a  woman  will  secure  praise  at  the  expense  of  one 
friend,  she  will  also  at  the  expense  of  others,  and  that 
no  one  can  be  safe.  There  is  nothing  in  my  eyes  more 
admirable  in  a  woman  than  an  honest  wish  to  hear  no 
one  spoken  against — than  that  consideration  for  the 
feelings  of  others  which  leads  her  to  treat  all  faults  with 


TJlc  Proper   Use  of  Language.  115 

tenderness,  and  all  -.veaknesses  and  natural  unpleasant 
peculiarities  with  indulgence.  One  of  the  most  attrac- 
tive sights  in  the  world,  to  any  young  man  of  common 
sensibility,  is  that  of  a  young  woman  who  not  only  will 
neither  say  nor  hear  ill  of  any  one,  but  who  takes  spe- 
cial pains  to  notice  those  whom  the  crowd  neglect. 
Such  a  woman  is  the  admired  of  all  whose  admiration  is 
worth  securing.  And  now,  young  woman,  if  you  are  one 
of  the  sharp  ones,  and  are  tempted  to  say  sharp  things, 
remember  that  you  are  in  very  great  danger  of  injuring 
yourself,  not  only  in  your  own  soul,  but  in  the  eyes  of 
all  those  whom  you  imagine  you  are  pleasing. 

I  think,  as  a  general  thing,  that  women  are  harder  in 
their  judgments  of  their  own  sex  than  men  are  of  theirs, 
or  even  of  them.  This  arises  partly  from  jealousy — a 
wish  to  stand  among  the  uppermost  in  the  popular 
esteem.  The  praise  of  women,  poured  into  the  ears  of 
other  women,  is  not  usually  gratefully  received.  The 
disposition  of  women  to  judge  harshly  of  each  other  is 
seen  particularly  in  those  instances  in  which  a  woman 
has  taken  a  false  step.  Here  the  fact  is  patent; — a 
woman  forgets,  or  forgives,  much  less  promptly  than  a 
man.  However  deep  the  repentance,  however  decided 
the  reformation,  a  woman  never  forgets  that  her  sister 
has  sinned,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  weakness  and 
misfortune  and  a  hundred  mitigating  if  not  exculpating 
circumstances  plead  in  her  behalf.  It  is  the  same  with 
less  important  lapses   of  behavior,  in  a  corresponding 


Ii6  Tit  comb's  Letters. 

degree.  I  do  not  know  but  this  is  one  of  the  safeguards 
which  God  intended  should  be  around  a  woman's  path, 
but  it  seems  to  me  a  very  unwomanly  and  a  very  un- 
christian thing.  It  seems  to  me,  too,  to  be  a  very  un- 
natural thing.  I  judge  that,  much  more  than  a  man  a 
woman  should  be  interested  in  securing  justice  for  her 
own  sex  ;  and  that  if  a  sinning  or  a  silly  woman  should 
find  a  charitable  defender  anywhere,  it  should  be  among 
those  who,  like  her,  are  exposed  to  the  temptations,  and 
particularly  to  the  uncharitable  misconstructions  of  a 
captious  world. 

What  I  would  insist  upon,  is,  that  you  not  only  do  not 
wound  the  feelings  of  your  own  sex  by  sharp  criticisms, 
but  that  you  be  heartily  enlisted  in  maintaining  its 
honor.  Do  not  think  that  you  do  this  while  putting 
down  this  one  and  that,  in  order  to  make  your  own  im- 
maculateness  the  more  conspicuous.  Believe  what  is 
generally  true,  that  those  who  sin  are  those  who  sin 
rather  through  weakness  than  vicious  tendency  ;  that 
villains  who  wear  cravats  and  waistcoats — the  very  men 
whom  you  are  by  no  means  particular  enough  to  exclude 
from  your  company — are  those  v/ho  most  deserve  your 
reproaches. 

And  now  that  I  am  upon  this  subject  of  talk,  it  will 
be  well  to  say  all  I  have  to  say  upon  it.  It  is  a  very 
common  thing  for  young  women  to  indulge  in  hyperbole. 
A  pretty  dress  is  very  apt  to  be  "  perfectly  splendid ; "  a 
disagreeable  person  is  too  often  ''  perfectly  hateful ;"  a 


The  Proper   Use  of  Language.  117 

party  in  which  the  company  enjoyed  themselves,  some- 
how becomes  transmuted  into  the  "most  deHghtful 
thing  ever  seen."  A  young  man  of  respectable  parts 
and  manly  bearing  is  very  often  "such  a  magnificent 
fellow  !"  The  adjective  "  perfect,"  that  stands  so  much 
alone  as  never  to  have  the  privilege  of  help  from  com- 
paratives and  superlatives,  is  sadly  overworked,  in  com- 
pany v.-ith  several  others  of  the  intense  and  extravagant 
order.  The  result  is  that,  by  the  use  of  such  language 
as  this,  your  opinion  soon  becomes  valueless. 

A  woman  who  deals  only  in  superlatives  demonstrates 
at  once  the  fact  that  her  judgment  is  subordinate  to  her 
feelings,  and  that  her  opinions  are  entirely  unreliable. 
All  language  thus  loses  its  power  and  significance.  The 
same  words  arc  brought  into  use  to  describe  a  ribbon  in 
a  milliner's  window,  as  are  employed  in  the  endeavor  to 
do  justice  to  Thalberg's  execution  of  Beethoven's  most 
heavenly  symphony.  The  use  of  hyperbole  is  so  com- 
mon among  women  that  a  woman's  criticism  is  generally 
without  value.  Let  me  insist  upon  this  thing.  Be  more 
economical  in  the  use  of  your  mother  tongue.  Apply 
your  terms  of  praise  with  precision ;  use  epithets  with 
some  degree  of  judgment  and  fitness.  Do  not  waste 
your  best  and  highest  words  upon  inferior  objects,  and 
find  that  when  you  have  met  with  something  which 
really  is  superlatively  great  and  good,  the  terms  by 
which  you  would  distinguish  it  have  all  been  thrown 
away  upon  inferior  things — that  you  are  bankrupt  in  ex' 


Ii8  Titcomb's  Letters. 

pression.  If  a  thing  is  simply  good,  say  so  ;  if  pretty; 
say  so  ;  if  very  pretty,  say  so  ;  if  fine,  say  so  ;  if  very 
fine,  say  so;  if  grand,  say  so;  if  sublime,  say  so;  if 
magnificent,  say  so;  if  splendid,  say  so.  These  words 
all  have  different  meanings,  and  you  may  say  them  all 
of  as  many  different  objects,  and  not  use  the  word  "  per 
feet "  once.  That  is  a  very  large  word.  You  will  prob- 
ably be  obliged  to  save  it  for  application  to  the  Deity,  or 
to  his  works,  or  to  that  serene  rest  which  remains  for 
those  who  love  him. 

Young  W'Omen  are  very  apt  to  imbibe  another  bad 
habit,  namely,  the  use  of  slang.  I  was  walking  along 
the  street  the  other  day  when  I  met  an  elegantly  dressed 
lady  and  gentleman  upon  the  sidewalk.  My  attention 
was  the  more  attracted  to  them  because  they  were  evi- 
dently strangers.  At  any  rate  they  impressed  me  as 
being  very  thoroughly  refined  and  genteel  people.  As  I 
came  within  hearing  of  their  voices — they  were  quietly 
chatting  along  the  way — I  heard  these  words  from  the 
woman's  lips  :  ''You  may  bet  your  life  on  that."  I  was 
disgusted.  I  could  almost  have  boxed  her  ears.  I  re- 
member once  being  in  the  company  of  a  belle — one  who 
had  had  a  winter's  reign  in  Washington.  Some  kind  of 
game  was  in  progress,  when,  in  a  moment  of  surprise, 
she  exclaimed,  "  My  Gracious  !"  Now  you  may  regard 
this  as  a  finical  notion,  but  I  tell  you  that  woman  fell  as 
flatly  in  my  esteem  as  if  she  had  uttered  an  oath.  A 
lady,  fresh  from  Paris,  once  informed  me  that  it  would 


The  Proper   Use  of  Language.  119 

do  the  residents  of  a  certain  quiet  village  a  great  deal 
of  good  to  be  ''  stirred  up  with  a  long  pole." 

I  would  by  no  means  insinuate  that  all  young  women 
use  slang  as  coarse  as  this,  but  I  acknowledge  to  have 
heard  phrases  as  coarse  as  these  from  friends  whom  I 
really  esteem.  Is  not  the  use  of  these  phrases,  and  of 
phrases  like  them  whose  number  is  legion,  a  very  vulgar 
habit  ?  It  seems  so  to  me,  and  I  can  hear  them  from 
the  lips  of  no  pretty  woman  except  with  pain,  and  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  diminution  of  my  respect  for  her.  The 
habit  certainly  detracts  from  womanly  dignity.  It  can 
be  dropped  without  the  slightest  danger  of  going  into 
that  extreme  of  precision  in  the  use  of  language,  which 
takes  out  all  the  life  and  freedom  from  social  inter- 
course. Slang  is  bad  enough  in  young  men,  and  they 
indulge  in  far  too  much  of  it ;  but  in  a  young  woman,  it 
is  disgusting.  It  is  not  the  outgrowth  of  fine  natures  ; 
it  is  not  accordant  with  refined  taste.  Any  young 
woman  who  indulges  in  it  does  it  at  a  very  sad  expense 
to  her  mind,  and  manners,  and  reputation.  Therefore, 
beware  of  it ;  discard  it  ;  guard  the  door  of  your  lips, 
and  leave  it  to  those  coarse  specimens  of  your  sex  of 
whose  natures  and  habits  of  thought  it  is  the  natural 
and  fitting  expression. 

One  more  bad  habit  of  your  tongues,  and  I  conclude. 
It  is  very  common  for  young  women  to  imagine  that  all 
tradesmen  have  a  desire  to  cheat  them.  They  will  talk 
to  the  provision  dealers  and  peddlers  who  call  at  their 


I20  TitcomFs  Letter's. 

doors,  and  to  tradesmen  in  their  shops,  with  a  harshness 
that  would  not  be  forgiven  in  a  man.  Men  become 
hardened  to  this  kind  of  thing,  and  expect  it ;  and  very 
naturally  choose  those  who  suspect  them,  and  accuse 
them  of  cheating — who  chaffer,  and  cheapen,  and  find 
fault — for  the  victims  of  their  sharpest  operations.  A 
young  woman  who  treats  every  man  with  whom  she 
trades  as  a  gentleman,  giving  him  her  confidence,  and 
throwin|[  herself  upon  his  honor  and  generosity,  will 
stand  the  best  possible  chance  to  be  fairly  dealt  by.  I 
except  Jews  with  China  ware,  and  men  of  Celtic  origin 
with  short  pipes  in  their  mouths.  It  is  always  safe  to 
close  a  bargain  with  such  persons  before  entering  into 
any  operations  ;  but  even  this  may  be  done  without  loss 
of  self-respect.  If  you  see  that  a  man  designs  to  cheat 
you,  it  is  not  lady-like  to  put  yourself  upon  a  footing 
with  him,  and  undertake  to  extort  a  bargain  from  him. 
Dismiss  him  without  a  word.  You  cannot  afford  to 
waste  any  breath  or  self-respect  upon  him. 

Because  a  man  has  a  thing  to  sell — becaus-  ne  stands 
behind  a  counter,  or  drives  a  cart,  he  is  not  necessarily 
no  gentleman.  As  a  general  thing,  those  men  deserve 
just  as  considerate  politeness  at  your  hands  as  if  they 
were  in  your  parlor.  You  have  no  right  to  banter  them. 
You  have  no  right  to  suspect  them — to  say  harsh  thing? 
to  them — to  depreciate  their  wares,  and  to  place  them 
practically  in  the  position  of  sharpers  and  knaves.  It  is 
not  lady-like  for  you  to  put  their  politeness  to  the  test 


The  Proper   Use  of  Language.         121 

They  will  not  insult  you,  and  in  that  very  fact  vindicate 
their  claim  to  your  good  opinion  and  polite  treatment, 
V'ou  may  get  the  credit  with  them  of  being  sharp,  hard 
customers,  but  they  will  dislike  you,  and  if  they  speak 
of  you,  will  not  say  anything  to  flatter  you. 


LETTER  VTI, 

HOUSEWIFERY  AND   INDUSTRY. 

She  laycrh  V»er  hands  to  the  spindle,  and  her  hands  hold  the  distaff.    .    . 
She  is  not  afraid  of  the  snow  for    her  household  ;    for    all  her   household 
are   clothed   with    scarlet.     .     .     .     Strength   and  honor  are   her   clothing, 
and  she  shall  rejoice  in  time  to  come. 

—Solomon. 

AMONG  the  more  homely  but  most  essential  accom- 
plishments of  a  young  woman  is  that  of  house- 
wifery. There  are  many  things  at  the  present  day  to 
interfere  with  its  acquisition,  but  the  fact  that  it  is  essen- 
tial should  lead  you  to  subordinate  to  it  those  which  are 
not.  We  hear  a  great  deal  about  the  laziness  of  the  pre- 
sent generation  of  girls.  I  think  the  accusation  is  un- 
just. Girls  who  acquire  a  really  good  education  now, 
accomplish  much  more  genuine  hard  work  than  those  in 
"'the  good  old  times"  who  only  learned  to  read  and 
write,  and  occupied  the  most  of  their  time  in  the  kitchen 
and  dairy.  Nothing  that  can  be  called  education  and 
accomplishment  can  be  achieved  without  great  labor  ; 
and,  in  my  opinion,  the  principal  reason  why  good 
housewifery  is   so  much   neglected,  as    an   accom.plish- 


Housewifery  and  Industry.  123 

ment,  is,  that  the  time  is  so  much  occupied  in  study. 
Laziness  is  very  apt  to  come  with  wealth,  and  there  are 
undoubtedly  a  great  many  more  lazy  girls  now  than  fifty 
years  ago.  They  are  certainly  a  very  undesirable  arti- 
cle to  have  about,  and  I  pity  the  poor  fellow  who  gets 
one  of  them  for  a  companion  ;  but  I  say  candidly  that 
I  do  not  think  there  are  any  more  naturally  lazy  girls  in 
the  world  than  usual. 

You  expect,  one  of  these  days,  to  be  the  mistress  of 
a  house.  Your  comfort  and  happiness,  and  the  comfort 
and  happiness  of  your  husband,  will  depend  very  much 
upon  your  ability  to  order  that  house  well.  If  your 
companion  be  in  humble  circumstances,  you  will  very 
likely  be  obliged  to  do  the  most  of  your  work  yourself 
In  this  case,  a  thorough  knowledge  of,  and  taste  for, 
housewifery,  will  be  very  necessary  to  you.  If  you 
marry  a  man  of  competence  or  wealth,  a  knowledge  of 
good  housewifery  is  quite  as  essential  to  you  as  if  you 
were  required  to  do  your  own  work.  The  expenses  of 
your  house  will  be  large  or  small,  as  you  are  a  bad  or  a 
good  housekeeper.  If  you  do  not  know  how  to  do  the 
work  of  the  house  ;  if  you  have  no  practical  knowledge 
of  all  the  offices  and  economies  of  an  establishment,  you 
will  be  dependent.  So  far  from  being  the  mistress  of 
your  house,  you  will  be  only  its  guest.  Your  servants 
will  circumvent  you,  they  will  cheat  you,  they  will 
make  you  miserable.  If  they  do  not  perform  their  work 
properly,  through  wilfulness   or   ignorance,  you   cannot 


124  Titcomb's  Letters. 

tell  them  how  to  do  better.  You  will  scold  them  foi 
things  which  you  cannot  tell  them  how  to  mend,  you 
will  be  unjust,  and  you  will  not  keep  them.  Many  a 
really  good  servant  is  constantly  suffering  from  griev- 
ances growing  directly  from  the  ignorance  of  her  mis- 
tress. Unless  you  are  willing  to  take  up  for  life  with  a 
boarding-house — a  place  for  people  to  vegetate  in — you 
must  be  a  good  housewife.  It  matters  not  whether  you 
are  rich  or  poor.  You  need  a  practical  knowledge  of 
cookery,  of  the  laundry,  of  the  prices  and  qualities  of 
provisions,  of  chamber  work — of  everything  that  enters 
into  the  details  of  home  life. 

Of  course,  if  you  have  no  motlicr  who  is  capable  of 
teaching  you  these  things,  you  are  in  a  measure  excusa- 
ble for  not  learning  them.  I  pity  a  family  of  girls 
whose  mother  is  a  know-nothing  and  a  do-nothing.  I 
do  not  blame  girls  for  not  wishing  to  put  themselves 
under  the  tuition  of  the  cook  and  the  maid-of-all-work. 
But  even  when  you  find  yourselves  under  disadvantages 
like  these,  you  cannot  afford  to  become  a  woman  with- 
out knowing  something  of  the  homely  utilities  of  life. 
Your  own  aptness  of  mind — your  own  good  sense  and 
ready  ingenuity — will  give  you  a  clue  to  the  mysteries 
which  practice  will  ultimately  make  plain.  Your  com- 
fort, your  independence,  your  reputation,  your  hus- 
band's respect  for  you,  depend  so  much  upon  your 
ability  to  keep  house  well,  that  I  cannot  leave  the  sub- 
ject   without    insisting    upon     the    importance    of    youi 


Housewifery  and  Industry.  125 

learning  to  do  it  while  you  have  the  chance.  There  are 
few  higher  comphments  that  can  be  paid  to  a  young 
woman  than  that  which  accords  to  her  the  character  of 
an  excellent  housekeeper.  There  is  no  reputation  which 
will  more  thoroughly  tend  to  confirm  a  young  woman  in 
the  esteem  of  young  men,  or  more  forcibly  commend 
her  to  their  esteem  than  that  of  being  acquainted,  prac- 
tically, with  the  details  of  the  kitchen  and  the  economies 
of  housekeeping. 

This  naturally  introduces  me  to  a  discussion  of  the 
benefits  of  physical  industry,  and  the  assumption  of 
regular  household  duties.  There  is  no  better  relief  to 
study  than  the  regular  performance  of  special  duties 
in  the  house.  To  feel  that  one  is  really  doing  something 
every  day,  that  the  house  is  the  tidier  for  one's  efforts, 
and  the  comfort  of  the  family  enhanced,  is  the  surest 
warrant  of  content  and  cheerfulness.  There  is  some- 
thing about  this  habit  of  daily  work — this  regular  per- 
formance of  duty — which  tends  to  regulate  the  passions, 
to  give  calmness  and  vigor  to  the  mind,  to  impart  a 
healthy  tone  to  the  body,  and  to  diminish  the  desire  for 
life  in  the  street  and  for  resort  to  gossiping  companions. 

Were  I  as  rich  as  Croesus,  my  girls  should  have  some- 
thing to  do  regularly,  just  as  soon  as  they  should  be- 
come old  enough  to  do  anything.  They  should  learn, 
above  all  things,  to  help  themselves,  and  thus  to  be  in  - 
dependent  in  all  circumstances.  A  woman,  helpless 
from   any  other   cause   than   sickness,  is   essentially   a 


126  Tit  combos  Letter's. 

nuisance.  There  is  nothing  womanly  and  ladylike  in 
helplessness.  My  policy  would  be,  as  girls  grow  up,  to 
assign  to  them  special  duties,  first  in  one  part  of  the 
house,  then  in  another,  until  they  should  become  ac- 
quainted with  all  housewifely  offices  ;  and  I  should  have 
an  object  in  this  beyond  the  simple  acquisition  of  a 
knowledge  of  housewifery.  It  should  be  for  the  acquisi- 
tion of  habits  of  physical  industry — of  habits  that  con- 
duce to  the  health  of  body  and  mind — of  habits  that 
give  them  an  insight  into  the  nature  of  labor,  and  in- 
spire within  them  a  genuine  sympathy  with  those  whose 
lot  it  is  to  labor. 

All  young  mind  is  uneasy  if  it  be  good  for  anything. 
There  is  not  the  genuine  human  stuff  in  a  girl  who  is 
habitually  and  by  nature  passive,  placid,  and  inactive. 
The  body  and  the  mind  must  both  be  in  motion.  If 
this  tendency  to  activity  be  left  to  run  loose — undirected 
into  channels  of  usefulness — a  spoiled  child  is  the  re- 
sult. A  girl  growing  up  to  womanhood,  is,  when  unem- 
ployed, habitually  uneasy.  The  mind  aches  and  chafes 
because  it  wants  action,  for  a  motive.  Now  a  mind  in 
this  condition  is  not  benefited  by  the  command  to  stay  at 
home,  or  the  withdrawal  from  companions.  It  must  be 
set  to  work.  This  vital  energy  that  is  struggling  to  find 
relief  in  demonstration  should  be  so  directed  that  habits 
may  be  formed, — habits  of  industry  that  obviate  the 
wish  for  change  and  unnecessary  play,  and  form  a  reg- 
ular drain  upon  it.     Otherwise,  the  mind  becomes  dis- 


Housewifery  and  hidustry.  127 

sipated,  the  will  irresolute,  and  confinement  irksome. 
Girls  will  never  be  happy,  except  in  the  company  of 
their  playmates,  unless  home  becomes  to  them  a  scene 
of  regular  duty  and  personal  usefulness. 

There  is  another  obvious  advantage  to  be  derived 
from  the  habit  of  engaging  daily  upon  special  household 
duties.  The  imagination  of  girls  is  apt  to  become  ac- 
tive to  an  unhealthy  degree,  when  no  corrective  is  em- 
ployed. False  views  of  life  are  engendered,  and  labor 
is  regarded  as  menial.  Ease  comes  to  be  looked  upon 
as  a  supremely  desirable  thing,  so  that  when  the  real, 
inevitable  cares  of  life  come,  there  is  no  preparation  for 
them,  and  weak  complainings  or  ill-natured  discontent 
are  the  result. 

And  here  I  am  naturally  introduced  to  another  sub- 
ject. Young  women,  the  glory  of  your  life  is  to  do 
something  and  to  be  something.  You  very  possibly 
may  have  formed  the  idea  that  ease  and  personal  enjoy- 
ment are  the  ends  of  your  life.  This  is  a  terrible  mis- 
take. Development  in  the  broadest  sense  and  in  the 
highest  direction  is  the  end  of  your  life.  You  may 
possibly  find  ease  with  it,  and  a  great  deal  of  precious 
personal  enjoyment,  or  your  life  may  be  one  long  ex- 
perience of  self-denial.  If  you  wish  to  be  something 
more  than  the  pet  and  plaything  of  a  man  ;  if  you 
would  rise  above  the  position  of  a  pretty  toy,  or  the 
ornamental  fixture  of  an  establishment,  you  have  a 
work  to  do.     You  have  a   position  to  maintain   in  so- 


3  28  Titcomh's  Letters. 

ciety ;  you  have  the  poor  and  the  sick  to  visit ;  you  may 
possibly  have  a  family  to  rear  and  train  ;  you  must  take 
a  load  of  care  upon  your  shoulders  and  bear  it  through 
life.  You  have  a  character  to  sustain  ;  and  I  hope  that 
you  will  have  the  heart  of  a  husband  to  cheer  and 
strengthen.  Ease  is  not  for  you.  Selfish  enjoyment  is 
not  for  you.  The  world  is  to  be  made  better  by  you. 
You  will  be  obliged  to  suffer  and  to  work ;  and  if  there 
be  a  spark  of  the  true  fire  in  you,  your  hearts  will  re- 
spond to  these  words. 

The  time  will  come  when  you  shall  see  that  all  your 
toil,  and  care,  and  pain,  and  sorrow,  and  practical  sym- 
pathy for  others  has  built  you  up  into  a  strength  of 
womanhood  which  will  despise  ease  as  an  end  of  life, 
and  pity  those  who  are  content  with  it.  Get  this  idea 
that  your  great  business  is  simply  to  live  at  case  out  of 
your  head  at  once.  There  is  nothing  noble  and  cnnob- 
hng  in  it.  Your  mental  and  physical  powers  can  only 
give  you  worthy  happiness  in  the  using.  They  were 
made  for  use  ;  and  a  lazy  woman  is  inevitably  miserable. 
I  do  not  put  this  matter  of  enjoyment  before  you  as  the 
motive  for  action.  I  simply  state  the  fact  that  it  is  a 
result  of  action — an  incident  of  a  life  worthily  spent. 

When  you  have  properly  comprehended  and  received 
this  idea,  the  recreations  of  life  and  the  pleasures  of 
social  intercourse  will  take  their  appropriate  positions 
with  relation  to  the  business  of  life — its  staple  duties. 
Recreation  will  become  re-creation — simply  the  renewal 


Housewifery  and  Industry.  129 

of  your  powers,  that  they  may  all  the  better  perform 
the  work  which  you  have  undertaken,  or  which  circum- 
stances have  devolved  upon  you.  Social  pleasure  will 
rise  into  a  sympathetic  communion  with  natures  and 
lives  earnest  like  your  own,  upon  the  subjects  nearest 
your  hearts,  and  it  will  give  you  strength  and  guidance. 
The  pleasures  of  life  will  become  the  wells,  scattered 
along  the  way,  where  you  will  lay  down  your  burdens  for 
the  moment,  wipe  your  brows,  and  drink,  that  you  may 
go  into  the  work  before  you  refreshed  in  body  and  mind. 
In  these  quiet  hours  you  will  feel  a  healthy  thrill  of 
happiness  which  those  who  seek  pleasure  for  its  own 
sake  never  know. 

There  are  few  objects  in  this  world  more  repulsive  to 
me  than  a  selfish  woman— a  woman  who  selfishly  con- 
sults her  own  enjoyments,  her  own  ease,  her  own  plea- 
sure. If  you  have  the  slightest  desire  to  be  loved  ;  if 
you  would  have  your  presence  a  welcome  one  in  palace 
and  cottage  alike  ;  if  you  would  be  admired,  respected, 
revered  ;  if  you  would  have  all  sweet  human  sympathies 
clustering  around  you  while  you  live,  and  the  tears  of  a 
multitude  of  friends  shed  upon  your  grave  when  you  die, 
you  must  be  a  working  woman — living  and  working  for 
others,  denying  yourself  for  others,  and  building  up  for 
yourself  a  character,  strong,  symmetrical,  beautiful. 
If  I  were  you,  I  would  rather  be  that  insensate  and 
quietly  gliding  shadow  which  the  wounded  soldier  kissed 

as  the  noble  Florence  Nightingale  passed  his  weary  pih 
6* 


130  Tit  CO  nib' s  Letters. 

low,  than  the  pampered  creature  of  Uixury,  who  has  n« 
thought  above  her  personal  ease  and  personal  adorn" 
ment. 

Do  not  seek  out  for  yourselves  any  prominent  field  of 
service  where  you  will  attract  the  attention  of  the  world. 
Remain  where  God  places  you.  Some  of  the  noblest 
heroisms  of  the  world  have  been  achieved  in  humble 
life.  The  poor  ye  have  always  with  you.  The  miser- 
able are  always  around  you.  You  can  lighten  your 
father's  burdens.  You  can  restrain  your  brothers  from 
vicious  society.  You  can  relieve  your  failing  and  fading 
mother  of  much  care.  You  can  gather  the  ragged  and 
ignorant  children  at  your  knee,  and  teach  them  some- 
thing of  a  better  life  than  they  have  seen.  You  can  be- 
come angels  of  life  and  goodness  to  many  stricken 
hearts.  You  can  read  to  the  aged.  You  can  do  many 
things  which  will  be  changed  to  blessings  upon  your  own 
soul.  Florence  Nightingale  did  her  work  in  her  place  ; 
do  your  work  in  yours,  and  your  Father  who  seeth  in 
secret  shall  reward  3'ou  openly. 

I  would  be  the  last  one  to  cast  a  shadow  on  your 
brows,  but  I  would  undeceive  you  at  the  first,  so  that 
you  may  begin  life  with  right  ideas.  Life  is  real — it  is 
a  real  and  earnest  thing.  It  has  homely  details,  painful 
passages,  and  a  crown  of  care  for  every  brow.  I  seek  to 
inspire  you  with  a  wish  and  a  will  to  meet  it  with  a; 
woman's  spirit.  I  seek  to  point  you  to  its  nobler  mean- 
ings and  its  higher  results.     The  tinsel  with  which  your 


Housewifery  and  Industry.  131 

imagination  has  invested  it  will  all  fall  off  of  itself,  so 
soon  as  you  shall  fairly  enter  upon  its  experiences. 
Then  if  these  ideas  have  no  place  in  you,  you  will  be 
obliged  to  acquire  them  slowly  and  painfully,  or  you 
will  sink  into  a  poor,  selfish,  discontented  creature — and 
be,  so  far  as  others  are  concerned,  either  a  nonentity, 
or  a  disgraceful  hanger-on  and  looker-on.  So  I  say, 
begin  to  take  up  life's  duties  now.  Learn  something 
of  what  life  is,  before  you  take  upon  yourself  its  graver 
responsibilities. 


LETTER   VIII. 

THE  BEAUTY  AND  BLESSEDNESS   OF  FEMALE 
PIETY. 

The  cross,  if  rightly  borne,  shall  be 
No  burden,  but  support  to  thee. 

— Whittier, 

YOUNG  women,  this  is  my  last  letter  addressed  spe- 
cially to  you  ;  and  as  I  take  your  hand,  and  give 
you  my  adieu,  I  wish  to  say  a  few  words  which  shall  be 
worth  a  great  deal  to  you.  It  is  my  opinion  that  to  a 
certain  extent,  in  certain  directions,  God  meant  that  you 
should  be  dependent  upon  men,  and  that  in  this  de- 
pendence should  exist  some  of  your  profoundest  and 
sweetest  attractions  and  your  noblest  characteristics. 
Your  bodies  are  smaller  than  those  of  men.  You  were 
not  made  to  wrestle  with  the  rough  forces  of  nature. 
You  were  not  made  for  war,  or  commerce,  or  agriculture. 
In  all  these  departments,  the  iron  wills  and  the  iron 
muscles  of  man  are  alone  at  homco  The  bread  you  eat, 
and  the  fabrics  you  wear,  are  to  be  gathered  from  the 
earth    by   men.      You   are   to   be   protected    by   men- 


The  Blessedness  of  Female  Piety.       133 

They  build  your  houses  ;  they  guard  your  persons.  It 
is  entirely  natural  for  you  to  rely  upon  them  for  much 
that  you  have.  You  give,  or  may  give,  great  rewards 
for  all  this.  It  is  not  a  menial  relation,  nor  one  which 
detracts  from  your  dignity  in  the  least.  The  circle  of 
human  duties  is  only  complete  by  the  union  of  those  of 
man  and  woman.  Man  has  his  sphere — woman,  hers. 
We  cannot  talk  of  superiority  among  spheres  and  duties 
that  are  alike  essential.  Suffice  it  that,  in  the  degree 
in  which  you  are  dependent  upon  man  for  support  and 
protection,  does  he  owe  support  and  protection  to  you. 
He  is  bound  to  do  for  you  what  you,  through  the  pecu- 
liarities of  your  constitution,  are  unable  to  do  for  your- 
self You  are  never  to  c^uarrel  with  this  arrangement. 
You  will  only  make  yourself  unhappy  by  it,  because,  by 
quarrelling  with  God's  plans,  you  essentially  unsex  your- 
self, and  become  a  discord.  Therefore  recognize  your 
dependence  gladly  and  gracefully.  Be  at  home  in  it, 
for  in  it  lies  your  power  for  influence  and  for  good. 

This  advances  us  a  step  towards  the  point  to  which 
I  wish  to  lead  you.  Now,  if  you  will  go  with  me  into 
a  circle  of  praying  Christians,  or  if  you  will  take  up 
with  me  a  list  of  the  members  of  any  church,  I  will 
show  you  a  fact  which  I  wish  to  connect  with  the  facts 
stated  in  the  preceding  paragraph.  You  will  find,  I 
suppose,  that  at  least  two-thirds  of  the  members  of  the 
prayer -meeting  are  women,  and  that  the  church  regis- 
ter   will   show   a   corresponding   proportion   of    female 


134  TitcomU's  Letters, 

names.  Why  is  this  ?  Is  it  because  women  are  weakei 
than  men,  simply  ?  Is  it  because  women  are  subject  to 
smaller  temptations  than  men  ?  Is  it  because  theii 
passions  are  less  powerful  than  those  of  men  ?  Not  at 
all — or  not  in  any  important  degree.  It  is  because  a 
feeling  of  dependence  is  native  in  the  female  heart.  It 
is  because  the  pride  of  independence  has  little  or  no 
place  there.  It  is  because  the  female  mind  has  to 
undergo,  comparatively,  a  small  revolution  to  become 
religious.  Rather,  perhaps,  I  should  say,  that  one  pow- 
erful barrier  that  stands  before  the  path  of  every  man 
in  his  approach  to  the  valley  of  humiliation  does  not 
oppose  the  passage  of  the  true  woman.  I  suppose  it  is 
very  rare  that  those  who  are  denominated  "strong- 
minded  women"  become  religious.  The  pride  of  per- 
sonal independence  is  built  before  them  by  their  own 
hands. 

So  sweet  and  so  natural  a  thing  is  piety  among 
women  that  men  have  come  to  regard  a  woman  without 
it  as  strange,  if  not  unhealthy.  The  coarsest  and  most 
godless  men  often  select  pious  wives,  because  they  see 
that  piety  softens,  and  deepens,  and  elevates  every 
natural  grace  of  person,  and  every  accomplishment  of 
mind.  Now  my  opinion  is  that  Heaven,  seeing  how 
important  it  is  for  you  to  be  its  own  children,  in  profes- 
sion and  in  spirit,  has  given  special  favors  to  your  sex, 
through  this  simple  fact  or  principle  of  dependence.  It 
is   your  work   to   soften  and   refine   men.     Men   living 


The  Blessedness  of  Fcjualc  Piety.       135 

without  you,  by  themselves,  become  savage  and  sinful. 
The  purer  you  are,  the  more  are  they  restrained,  and 
the  more  are  they  elevated.  It  is  your  work  to  form 
the  young  mind, — to  give  it  direction  and  instruction — 
to  develop  its  love  for  the  good  and  the  true.  It  is 
your  work  to  make  home  happy — to  nourish  all  the 
virtues,  and  instil  all  the  sentiments  which  build  men 
up  into  good  citizens.  The  foundation  of  our  national 
character  is  laid  by  the  mothers  of  the  nation.  I  say 
that  Heaven,  seeing  the  importance  to  the  world  of 
piety  in  you,  has  so  modified  your  relations  to  man  that 
it  shall  be  comparatively  easy  for  you  to  descend  into 
that  valley,  over  which  all  must  walk,  before  their  feet 
can  stand  upon  the  heights  of  Christian  experience, 
between  which  and  Heaven's  door  the  ascent  is  easy. 

For  my  own  part,  I  shrink  with  horror  from  a  godless 
woman.  There  seems  to  be  no  light  in  her — no  glory 
proceeding  from  her.  There  is  something  monstrous 
about  her.  I  can  see  why  men  do  not  become  religious. 
It  is  a  hard  thing — it  is,  at  least,  if  experience  and 
observation  are  to  be  relied  on — for  a  man  whose  will 
has  been  made  stern  by  encounters  in  the  great  battle 
of  life,  who  is  conscious  of  power  and  accustomed  to 
have  the  minds  around  him  bend  to  his,  who  possesses 
the  pride  of  manhood  and  the  self-esteem  that  springs 
naturally  in  the  mind  of  one  in  his  position,  to  become 
*' as  a  little  child."  Woman  has  only  to  recognize  her 
dependence  upon  One  higher  than  man,  and,  in  doing 


136  TitcojnFs  Letters. 

this,  is  obliged  to  do  but  little  violence  to  her  habits  ol 
thought,  and  no  violence  at  all  to  such  sentiments  of 
independence  as  stand  most  in  the  way  of  man.  So  I 
say  that  a  godless  woman  is  a  monstrous  woman.  She 
is  an  unreasonable  woman.  She  is  an  offensive  woman. 
Even  an  utterly  godless  man,  unless  he  be  debauched 
and  debased  to  the  position  of  an  animal,  deems  such  a 
woman  without  excuse.  He  looks  on  her  with  suspicion. 
He  would  not  have  such  an  one  to  take  the  care  of  his 
children.     He  would  not  trust  her. 

I  do  not  propose  to  offer  you  any  incentives  to  piety 
drawn  from  a  future  condition  of  rewards  and  punish- 
ments. I  leave  it  to  the  pulpits  whose  ministrations  you 
attend  to  talk  of  this  matter  in  their  own  way.  My 
whole  augument  shall  relate  to  the  proprieties  and 
necessities  of  the  present  life*  It  is  proper  that  you 
serve  the  Being  who  made  you,  and  that  you  love  the 
One  who  redeemed  you.  It  is  proper  that  to  all  your 
graces  you  add  that  of  unselfishness.  It  is  proper  that 
all  the  elements  of  your  character  be  harmonized  and 
sublimated  by  the  tenderest  devotion  to  the  *'  One 
altogether  lovely."  It  is  proper  that  your  heart  be 
purified,  so  that  all  the  influence  which  goes  out  of  it, 
through  the  varied  relationships  of  life,  be  good,  and 
only  good,  I  mean  by  the  word  "  proper''  all  that  the 
word  proper  can  mean.  It  is  eternally  and  immutably 
fit.  I  mean  that  it  is  ifnproper  and  laifii  that  you  should 
fail  of  piety.     I  mean  that  by  carrying  with  you  a  rebel- 


TJie  Blessedness  of  Female  Piety.       137 

lious  and  cold  and  careless  heart,  you  introduce  among 
the  sweetest  harmonies  of  the  world,  a  harsh  discord, 
which  it  is  not  fit  and  proper  that  you  should  introduce. 
You  are  a  wandering  star.  You  are  a  voiceless  bird. 
You  are  a  motionless  brook.  .  The  strings  of  your  soul 
are  not  in  tune  with  those  chords  which  the  Infinite 
hand  sweeps  as  he  evolves  the  music  of  the  universe. 
Your  being  does  not  respond  to  the  touch  of  Provi- 
dence ;  and  if  Beauty,  and  Truth,  and  Goodness,  and 
Love,  come  down  to  you,  like  angels  out  of  heaven,  and 
sing  you  their  sweetest  songs,  you  do  not  see  their 
wings,  or  recognize  their  home  and  parentage.  I 
say  that  it  is  not  proper — it  is  inexpressibly  unfit  that 
you — a  woman — with  delicate  sensibilities,  and  pure 
instincts  and  a  dependent  nature,  should  ignore  the 
relations  which  exist  between  your  soul  and  God,  and 
put  a  veil  of  blackness  between  the  light  which  he 
has  lighted  within  you,  and  that  Infinite  fountain  of 
light  still  open  and  ready  to  fill  all  your  being  with  its 
divine  radiance. 

Then,  as  to  your  necessities  :  First,  remember  what 
you  are.  You  are  really  the  consolers  of  the  world. 
You  attend  the  world  in  sickness ;  you  give  all  its 
medicines  ;  your  society  soothes  the  world  after  its  toil, 
and  rewards  it  for  its  perplexities  ;  you  receive  the  in- 
fant when  it  enters  upon  existence  ;  you  drape  the  cold 
form  of  the  aged  when  life  is  past ;  you  settle  the  little 
difficulties,  and  assuage  the  sorrows  of  childhood  ;  you 


138  TitcomF s  Letters. 

minister  to  the  poor  and  the  distressed.  Do  you  sup' 
pose  that  out  of  the  resources  of  your  poor  heart,  you 
can  supply  all  the  draughts  that  will  be  made  upon  your 
sympathies  and  their  varied  ministry  ?  Do  you  believe 
that  you  carry  within  your  own  bosom  light  for  the 
dying,  hope  for  the  despairing,  consolation  for  the  bereft, 
patience  for  the  sick  ?  Nay,  do  you  believe  that  you 
have  light  and  hope  and  consolation  and  patience  suffi- 
cient for  your  own  soul's  wants,  while  performing  the 
ministries  to  which,  in  Heaven's  economy,  you  are  ap- 
pointed ?  Piety  is,  then,  an  absolute  necessity  to  you. 
You  can  no  more  perform  these  offices  to  which  you  are 
called,  properly  and  efficiently,  without  piety,  than  a 
bird  can  fly  without  wings.  You  would  be  trying  to 
make  bricks  without  straw.  Think  of  a  woman  by  the 
side  of  a  dying  sister,  or  a  sick  child,  or  a  sorrowing 
friend,  or  a  broken-hearted  and  broken-spirited  man, 
without  a  word  of  heaven  in  her  mouth — without  so 
much  as  the  ability  to  whisper  "  Our  Father,"  or  even 
to  point  her  finger  hopefully  towards  the  stars  ! 

Again,  your  life  and  duties  are  peculiar,  as  your 
sphere  is  distinct.  If  you  lead  a  worthy,  womanly  life, 
it  will  be  a  home  life — free  from  great  excitements. 
The  current  of  your  thoughts  will  flow  in  retired  chan- 
nels. You  will  hear,  outside,  the  braying  of  trumpets, 
and  the  roll  of  drums,  and  the  din  of  wheels,  and  the 
rush  and  roar  of  the  world's  great  business.  Oftentimes: 
when  you  are  busy  with  your  modest  affairs,  and  going 


The  Blessedness  of  Female  Piety,       139 

through  the  wearying  routine  of  your  hfe,  you  will  be 
tempted  to  repine  at  their  quietness  and  insipidness. 
Many  a  woman  does  the  work  of  her  life  without  being 
seen  or  noticed  by  the  world.  The  world  sees  a  familv 
reared  to  virtue — one  child  after  another  growing  into 
Christian  manhood  and  womanhood,  and  at  last  it  sees 
them  all  gathered  around  a  grave  where  the  mother  that 
bore  them  rests  from  her  labors.  But  the  world  has 
never  seen  that  quiet  woman  laboring  for  her  children, 
making  their  clothes,  providing  their  food,  teaching 
them  their  prayers,  and  making  their  homes  comfort- 
able and  happy. 

The  world  knows  nothing,  or  does  not  think,  of  the 
fears,  the  pains,  and  the  anxieties  inseparable  from  the 
mother's  office.  She  bears  them  alone,  and  discharges 
her  peculiar  responsibilities  without  assistance.  No  in- 
dividual in  the  world  can  do  a  mother's  work  for  her. 
A  family  of  young  immortals  is  committed  to  her  hands. 
The  rearing  and  training  of  these  form  a  business  to 
which  she  has  served  no  apprenticeship.  If  divine 
guidance  and  support  be  necessary  to  any  one  in  the 
world,  they  are  necessary  to  the  wife  and  mother^  It  is 
a  sad,  sad  thought  to  any  son  or  daughter  that  his  or 
her  mother  was  not  a  woman  of  piety.  The  boy  that 
feels  that  his  name  is  mentioned  in  a  good  mother's 
prayers,  is  comparatively  safe  frorn  vice,  and  the  ruin  to 
which  it  leads.  The  sweetest  thought  that  N.  P.  Willis 
ever  penned  grew  out  of  a  reference  to  his  pious  mother's 


140  Tit  comb's  Letters. 

prayers  for  him.     Tossed  by  the  waves,  in  a  vessel  which 
was  bearing  him  homeward,  he  wrote  : 

"'  Sleep  safe,  O  wave-worn  mariner, 

Nor  fear  to-night  nor  storm  nor  sea  1 
The  ear  of  keaven  bends  low  to  her  ; 
He  cotnes  to  shore  ivho  sails  -with  me/  " 

Will  not  piety  be  necessary  to  you  ?     Will  not  youl 
piety  be  necessary  to  your  children  ? 

And  now,  young  women,  a  few  closing  words.  I  have 
no  doubt  many  of  you  have  read  these  letters  with  care, 
and  with  an  earnest  wish  to  profit  by  them.  They  have 
been  written  in  all  honesty  and  sincerity,  and  I  leave 
them  with  you.  The  opinions  I  have  given  you  have 
not  been  hastily  formed,  nor  has  the  counsel  I  have 
urged  upon  you  arisen  from  anything  but  a  conscien- 
tious conviction  of  your  wants,  and  a  desire  to  help  you 
to  a  womanhood,  the  noblest  to  be  achieved  in  this 
world.  Your  happiness  is  very  much  in  your  own 
hands  ;  so  are  your  usefulness  and  your  good  name.  I 
do  not  ask  you  to  be  anything  but  a  glad,  sunny  woman. 
I  would  have  no  counsels  of  mine  recommended  by  long 
faces  and  formal  behavior.  I  would  have  you  so  at 
peace  with  Heaven,  with  the  world  and  with  yourself, 
that  tears  shall  flow  only  at  the  call  of  sympathy.  I 
would  have  you  imrnaculate  as  light,  devoted  to  all  good 
deeds,  industrious,  intelligent,  patient,  heroic.  And 
crowning  every  grace   of  person  and  mind,  every  ac 


The  Blessedness  of  Fe^nale  Piety.       141 

compiishment,  every  noble  sentiment,  every  womanly 
faculty,  every  delicate  instinct,  every  true  impulse,  I 
would  see  religion  upon  your  brow — the  coronet  by 
token  of  which  God  makes  you  a  princess  in  his  family, 
and  an  heir  to  the  brightest  glories,  the  sweetest  plea- 
sures,  the  noblest  privileges,  and  the  highest  honors  of 
his  kingdom. 


LETTERS    TO 
YOUNG  MARRIED  PEOPLE 


LETTERS  TO  YOUNG  MARRIED 
PEOPLE. 


LETTER   I. 

THE  FIRST  ESSENTIAL  DUTIES  OF  THE  CONNUBIAL 
RELA  TION. 

O  let  us  walk  the  world,  so  that  our  love 
Burn  like  a  blessed  beacon,  beautiful, 
Upon  the  walls  of  life's  surrounding  dark. 

— Gerald  Massey. 

YOU  are  married,  and  it  is  for  better  or  for  worse. 
You  are  bound  to  one  another  as  companions  for 
life.  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  this  is  a  momentous 
fact  ?  Did  you  ever  think  that  since  you  came  into  the 
world,  a  precious  lump  of  helpless  life,  there  is  no  fact 
of  your  history  which  will  so  much  affect  your  destiny  as 
this  ?  I  do  not  propose  to  inquire  into  the  motives 
which  led  you  to  this  union.  You  may  have  come  to- 
gether like  two  streams,  flowing  naturally  towards  one 
point,  and  then  mingling  their  waters  with  scarcely  a 
7 


146  TitcomFs  Letters. 

ripple,  to  pass  on  together  to  the  great  ocean.  You 
may  have  come  together  under  the  wild  stress  of  pas- 
sion, or  the  feeble  attractions  of  fancy,  or  the  sordid  im= 
pulsions  of  interest,  or  by  force  of  the  purest  love.  But 
the  time  for  considering  the  motives  which  have  united 
you  is  past.  You  are  married,  for  better  or  for  worse. 
The  word  is  spoken.  The  bond  is  sealed  ;  and  the 
only  question  now  is — "  how  shall  this  union  be  made 
to  contribute  the  most  to  your  happiness  and  your  best 
development  ?  "  It  is  to  answer  this  question  as  well 
as  I  can,  that  I  write  this  series  of  letters. 

You  have  but  one  life  to  live,  and  no  amount  of 
money,  or  influence,  or  fame,  can  pay  you  for  a  life  of 
unhappiness.  You  cannot  afford  to  be  unhappy.  You 
cannot  afford  to  quarrel  with  one  another.  You  cannot 
afford  to  cherish  a  single  thought,  to  harbor  a  single  de- 
sire, to  gratify  a  single  passion,  or  indulge  a  single  self- 
ish feeling  that  will  tend  to  make  this  union  anything 
but  a  source  of  happiness  to  you.  So  it  becomes  you, 
at  starting,  to  have  a  perfect  understanding  with  one 
another.  It  becomes  you  to  resolve  that  you  will  be 
happy  together,  at  any  rate  ;  or  that  if  you  suffer,  it  shall 
be  from  the  same  cause,  and  in  perfect  sympathy.  You 
are  not  to  let  any  human  being  step  between  you,  under 
any  circumstances.  Neither  father  nor  mother,  neither 
brother  nor  sister,  neither  friend  nor  neighbor,  has  any 
right  to  interfere  with  your  relations,  so  long,  at  least, 
as  you  are  agreed.     You  twain  are   to  be  one  flesh-^ 


Duties  of  the   Connubial  Relation.        147 

identified  in  objects,  desires,  sympathies,  fortunes,  posi- 
tions— everything.  You  are  to  know  no  closer  friend 
Now  I  care  not  how  pure  and  genuine  may  be  the  love 
which  has  brought  you  together,  if  you  have  any  charac- 
ter at  all,  you  will  find  that  this  perfect  union  cannot 
be  effected  without  compromises.  Human  character, 
by  a  wise  provision  of  Providence,  is  infinitely  varied, 
and  there  are  not  two  individuals  in  existence  so  entirely 
alike  in  their  tastes,  habits  of  thought,  and  natural  apti- 
tudes, that  they  can  keep  step  with  one  another  over  all 
the  rough  places  in  the  path  of  life.  So  there  must  be 
a  bending  to  one  another.  I  suppose  the  brides  are  few 
who  have  not  wept  once  over  the  hasty  words  of  a  hus- 
band not  six  months  married  ;  and  I  suppose  there  are 
few  husbands  who,  in  the  early  part  of  their  married 
life,  have  not  felt  that  perhaps  their  choice  was  not  a 
wise  one. 

Breaches  of  harmony  will  occur  between  imperfect 
men  and  women  ;  but  all  bad  results  may  be  avoided 
by  a  resolution,  well  kept  on  both  sides,  to  ask  the 
other's  pardon  for  every  offence — for  the  hasty  word, 
the  peevish  complaint,  the  unshared  pleasure — every- 
thing that  awakens  an  unpleasant  thought,  or  wounds  a 
sensibility.  This  reparation  must  be  made  at  once ; 
and  if  you  have  a  frank  and  worthy  nature,  a  quarrel  is 
impossible.  My  opinion  is  that  ninety-nine  one-hun- 
dredths  of  the  unhappiness  in  the  connubial  relation,  is 
the  absolute  fault,  and  not  primarily  the  misfortune,  of 


148  Titcomb's  Letters. 

the  parties.'  You  can  be  happy  together  if  you  will; 
but  the  agreement  to  be  happy  must  be  mutual.  The 
compromise  cannot  be  all  on  one  side.  It  is  a  mulish 
pride  in  men,  and  a  sensitive  will  in  women,  that  make 
the  principal  difficulty  in  all  unhappy  cases.  I  say  to 
every  man  and  woman,  if  you  have  done  anything 
which  has  displeased  your  companion,  beg  her  or  his 
pardon,  whether  you  were  intentionally  guilty  or  not. 
It  is  the  cheapest  and  quickest  way  to  settle  the  busi- 
ness. One  confession  makes  way  for  another,  and  the 
matter  is  closed — closed,  most  probably,  with  the  very 
sweetest  kiss  of  the  season. 

Be  frank  with  one  another.  Many  a  husband  and 
wife  go  on  from  year  to  year  with  thoughts  in  their 
hearts,  that  they  hesitate  to  reveal  to  one  another.  If 
you  have  anything  in  your  mind  concerning  your  com- 
panion that  troubles  you,  out  with  it.  Do  not  brood 
over  it.  Perhaps  it  can  be  explained  on  the  spot,  and 
the  matter  for  ever  put  to  rest.  Draw  your  souls  closer 
and  closer  together,  from  year  to  year.  Get  all  obsta- 
cles out  of  the  way.  Just  as  soon  as  one  arises,  attend 
to  it,  and  get  rid  of  it.  At  last,  they  will  all  disappear. 
You  will  become  wonted  to  one  another's  habits  and 
frames  of  mind  and  peculiarities  of  disposition  ;  and 
love,  respect,  and  charity  will  take  care  of  the  rest. 

I  insist  on  this,  because  it  is  the  very  first  essential 
thing.  I  insist  on  it,  because  I  believe  that  if  there  be 
sufficient  affinity  between  two  persons  to   bring   them 


Duties  of  the  Connubial  Relation.        149 

together,  and  to  lead  them  to  unite  their  lives,  it  is  their 
fault  if  they  fail  to  live  happily,  and  still  more  and  more 
happily  as  the  years  advance.  I  will  go  so  far  as  to  sa5 
that  I  believe  that  there  are  few  women  with  whom  a 
kind,  sensible  man  may  not  live  happily,  if  he  be  so 
disposed  ;  and  I  know  that  woman  is  more  plastic  in 
her  nature,  and  more  susceptible  to  love  than  man. 
So,  when  I  hear  of  unhappy  matches,  I  know  that  some- 
body is  to  blame. 

This  intimate  association  of  husband  and  wife — nay, 
this  identity — can  never  be  preserved  while  either  is 
blabbing  of  the  other.  A  man  who  tells  his  neighbors 
that  his  wife  is  extravagant,  that  she  is  wasteful,  that  he 
never  finds  her  home,  that  she  will  never  go  out  with 
him,  or  that  she  is  or  does  anything  which  he  desires 
her  not  to  be  or  do,  does  a  shameful  thing,  and  a  cruel 
thing,  besides  making  a  fool  of  himself.  A  woman  who 
bruits  her  husband's  faults,  who  tells  the  neighbors  how 
much  he  seeks  the  society  of  other  women,  how  much 
he  spends  for  cigars,  how  late  he  is  out  at  night,  how 
lazy  he  is,  how  little  he  cares  for  what  interests  her,  how 
stingy  he  is  with  his  money,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
sins  against  herself,  and  consents,  or  voluntarily  enlists, 
to  publish  that  which  is  essentially  her  own  shame.  A 
husband  and  wife  have  no  business  to  tell  one  another's 
faults  to  anybody  but  to  one  another.  They  cannot  do 
it  without  shame.  Their  grievances  are  to  be  settled  in 
private,  between  themselves  ;  and  in  all  public  places, 


150  Titcomb's  Letters. 

and  among  friends,  they  are  to  preserve  towards  one 
another  that  nice  consideration  and  entire  respectful- 
ness which  their  relation  enjoins.  For  they  are  one  in 
the  law ;  and  for  a  man  or  woman  to  publish  the  truth, 
that  they  are  not  one  in  fact,  is  to  acknowledge  that 
they  are  living  in  the  relation  of  an  unwilling  lover  and  a 
compulsory  mistress. 

A  great  deal  of  evil  might  be  prevented  between  you 
if  you  would  allow  your  affection  to  give  itself  natural 
expression.  I  know  of  husbands  so  proud  and  stiff  and 
surly  that  they  never  have  a  kiss  or  a  caress,  or  a  fond 
word  for  their  wives  whom  they  really  love.  I  know 
such  husbands  who  have  most  lovable  wives — wives  to 
whom  a  single  tender  demonstration,  that  shall  tell  to 
their  hearts  how  inexpressibly  pleasant  their  faces  and 
their  society  are,  and  how  fondly  they  are  loved,  would 
be  better  than  untold  gold — wives,  to  whom  caresses 
are  sweeter  than  manna,  and  fond  words  more  musical 
than  robin-songs  in  the  rain.  They  go  through  life 
starving  for  them — bearing  buds  of  happiness  upon  their 
bosoms  that  must  be  kissed  into  bloom,  or  wither  and 
fall.  Yet  the  cast-iron  husband  goes  about  his  business 
without  even  a  courteous  "good  morning,"  eats  his 
meals  with  immense  regularity,  provides  for  his  family 
exemplarily,  imagines  that  he  is  an  excellent  husband, 
and  entertains  a  profound  contempt  for  silly  people  who 
are  fond  of  one  another. 

Heaven  be  thanked  that  there  are  some  in  the  world 


Duties  of  the  Connubial  Relation.        151 

to  whose  hearts  the  barnacles  will  not  cling !  Heaven 
be  thanked  for  the  young  old  boys  and  the  young  old 
girls — boys  and  girls  for  ever — who,  until  the  evening 
of  life  falls  upon  them,  interchange  the  sweet  caresses 
that  call  back  the  days  of  courtship  and  early  marriage ! 
Thank  Heaven  that  my  wife  can  never  grow  old  ;  that 
so  long  as  a  lock  adorns  her  temples,  brown  or  gray, 
my  finger  shall  toy  with  it ;  that  so  long  as  I  can  sit 
there  shall  be  a  place  for  her  on  my  knee  ;  and  that  so 
long  as  I  can  whisper  and  she  can  hear,  she  shall  know 
by  fond  confession  that  her  soul  is  next  to  mine — linked 
to  mine — mine  ! 

I  wish  in  this  letter  to  impress  upon  you  the  idea 
which  few  married  people  apparently  thoroughly  com- 
prehend, that  you — husband  and  wife — are  one, — that 
you  have  no  separate  interests,  that  you  can  have  no 
separate  positions  in  society,  that  you  should  desire 
none,  and  that  it  is  within  your  ability,  and  is  most  im- 
peratively your  duty,  to  be  happy  together.  In  order 
to  be  what  you  should  be  to  each  other,  and  in  order  to 
be  happy  yourselves — in  your  ov.n  hearts — you  should 
begin  right.  You  should  be  willing  at  all  times  to  bear 
one  another's  burdens  ;  and  in  fact,  I  know  of  no  better 
rule  for  accomplishing  the  end  I  seek  for  you  than  by 
your  constantly  studying  and  ministering  to  the  happi- 
ness of  each  other.  Selfishness  is  the  bane  of  all  life, 
and  especially  of  married  life  ;  and  if  a  husband  and 
wife  devote  themselves  to  one  another's  happiness,  re- 


1 52  Tit  comb's  Letters. 

linquishing  their  own  selfish  gratification  for  that  end^ 
the  task  is  accomphshed — the  secret  solved.  The  path 
of  such  a  pair  is  paved  with  gold.  Their  life  is  a  song 
of  praise.  All  good  angels  are  about  them,  bearing 
consolations  for  every  sorrow,  antidotes  for  every  bane, 
rewards  for  every  labor,  and  strength  for  every  trial. 
That  is  essential  marriage  ;  and,  as  Paul  Dombey  said 
when  Mrs.  Pipchin  told  him  there  was  nobody  else  like 
her,  ''that  is  a  very  good  thing." 

I  suppose  there  is  a  modicum  of  romance  in  most 
natures,  and  that  if  it  gather  about  any  event,  it  is  that 
of  marriage.  Most  people  marry  ideals.  There  is 
more  or  less  of  fictitious  and  fallacious  glory  resting 
upon  the  head  of  every  bride,  which  the  young  husband 
sees  and  believes  in.  Both  men  and  women  manufac- 
ture perfections  in  their  mates  by  a  happy  process  of 
their  imaginations,  and  then  marry  them.  This,  of 
course,  wears  away.  By  the  time  the  husband  has  seen 
his  wife  eat  heartily  of  pork  and  beans,  and,  with  her 
hair  frizzled,  and  her  oldest  dress  on,  full  of  the  enter- 
prise of  overhauling  things,  he  sees  that  she  belongs  to 
the  same  race  with  himself.  And  she,  when  her  hus- 
band gets  up  cross  in  the  morning,  and  undertakes  to 
shave  himself  with  cold  water  and  a  dull  razor,  while 
his  suspenders  dangle  at  his  heels,  begins  to  see  that 
man  is  a  very  prosaic  animal.  In  other  words,  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  a  honeymoon,  of  longer  or  shorter  du- 
ration ;  and  while  the  moonshine  lasts,  the  radiance  of 


Ditties  of  the  Connubial  Relation.        153 

the  seventh  heaven  cannot  compare  with  it.  It  is  a 
aeUcious  little  delirium — a  febrile  mental  disease — 
which,  like  measles,  never  comes  again. 

When  the  honeymoon  passes  away,  setting  behind 
dull  mountains,  or  dipping  silently  into  the  stormy  sea 
of  life,  the  trying  hour  of  married  life  has  come.  Be-, 
tween  the  parties,  there  are  no  more  illusions.  The 
feverish  desire  of  possession  has  gone — vanished  into 
gratification — and  all  excitement  has  receded.  Then 
begins,  or  should  begin,  seriously,  the  business  of  adap- 
tation. If  they  find  that  they  do  not  love  one  another 
as  they  thought  they  did,  they  should  conscientiously 
and  earnestly  foster  and  strengthen  every  bond  of  at- 
tachment which  exists.  They  should  double  their  assid- 
uous attentions  to  one  another,  and  be  jealous  of  every- 
thing which  tends  in  the  slightest  degree  to  separate 
them.  Life  is  too  precious  to  be  thrown  away  in  secret 
regrets  or  open  differences. 

I  say  to  any  married  pair,  from  whom  the  romance  of 
life  has  fled,  and  who  are  discontented  in  the  slightest 
degree  with  their  condition  and  relations,  begin  this 
work  of  reconciliation  before  you  are  a  day  older.  Re- 
new the  attentions  of  earlier  days.  Draw  your  hearts 
closer  together.  Talk  the  thing  all  over.  Acknowledge 
your  faults  to  one  another,  and  determine  that  hence- 
forth you  will  be  all  in  all  to  each  other  ;  and,  my  word 
for  it,  you  shall  find  in  your  relation  the  sweetest  joy 
earth  has  for  you.     There  is  no  other  way  for  you  to  do, 

r 


154  Titcoinb's  Letters. 

If  you  are  unhappy  at  home,  you  must  be  unhappy 
abroad.  The  man  or  woman  who  has  settled  down 
upon  the  conviction  that  he  or  she  is  attached  for  hfe 
to  an  uncongenial  yoke -fellow,  and  that  there  is  no  v/ay 
of  escape,  has  lost  life.  There  is  no  effort  too  costly  to 
be  made  which  can  restore  to  its  setting  upon  theii 
bosoms  the  missing  pearl. 


LETTER   II. 

SPECIAL   DUTIES   OF  THE  HUSBAND. 

He  that  loveth  his  wife  loveth  himself.      For  no  man  ever  yet  hated  his 
own  flesh  ;  but  nourisheth  and  cherisheth  it,  even  as  the  Lord  the  church. 

— St.  Paul. 

YOUNG  husband,  this  letter  is  for  you.  Have  you 
an  idea  that  you  have  anything  like  a  just  compre- 
hension of  the  nature  of  the  being  whom  God  has  given 
you  for  a  companion  ?  If  you  have,  you  labor  under  a 
very  serious  mistake.  You  may  live  with  her  until, 
amid  gray  hairs  and  grandchildren,  you  celebrate  your 
golden  wedding,  and  then  know  but  a  tithe  of  her 
strength  and  tenderness.  I  believe  in  such  a  thing  as 
sex  of  soul.  A  woman's  happiness  flows  to  her  from 
sources  and  through  channels,  different  from  those  which 
give  origin  and  conduct  to  the  happiness  of  man,  and, 
in  a  measure,  will  continue  to  do  so  for  ever.  Her 
faculties  bend  their  exercise  towards  different  issues  ; 
her  social  and  spiritual  natures  demand  a  different  ali= 
ment.  What  will  satisfy  you  will  not  satisfy  her.  That 
which  most  interests  you  is  not  that  in  which  her  soul 


156  Titcomb's  Letters, 

finds  its  inost  grateful  exercise.  Her  love  for  you  ma^ 
bring  her  intimately  inta  sympathy  with  your  pursuits, 
through  all  their  wide  range,  from  a  hotly  driven  politi- 
cal contest  to  breaking  up  a  piece  of  wild  land,  or  even 
to  the  cultivation  of  an  unthrifty  whisker  ;  but  it  will 
'only  be  because  they  interest  the  man  she  loves  above 
all  others.  She  is  actuated  by  motives  that  do  not  affect 
you  at  all,  or  noi  to  the  extent  that  they  do  her.  If  she 
be  led  into  sin,  you  renounce  and  denounce  her  as  a 
thing  unclean  ;  yet,  through  all  your  debauchery,  your 
untruth  to  her,  your  beastly  drunkenness,  your  dis- 
honor, your  misfortune,  she  will  cling  to  you.  There  is 
in  her  heart  a  depth  of  tenderness  of  which  neither  vou 
nor  she  herself  has  any  conception.  Only  the  circum- 
stances and  exigencies  of  life  will  reveal  it  ;  and  this  is 
why  a  healthy  female  soul  is  always  fresh  and  new. 
Longfellow,  in  his  "  Spanish  Student,"  gives  a  hint  of 
this— and  a  pretty  deep  one— in  the  language  he  puts 
into  the  mouth  of  Preciosa's  lover  :  — 

"  What  most  I  prize  in  woman 
Is  her  affections,  not  her  intellect. 
The  intellect  is  finite  ;    but  the  affections 
Are  infinite,  and  cannot  be  exhausted." 

•'  The  world  of  the  affections  is  thy  world  ; — 
Not  that  of  man's  ambition.     In  that  stillness, 
Which  most  becomes  a  woman,   calm  and  holy, 
Thou  sittest  by  the  fireside  of  the  heart, 
Feedincr  its  flames." 


special  Duties  of  the  Husband.         157 

^'The  affections  are  infinite,  and  cannot  be  ex- 
hausted ;  "  and  it  is  through  her  affections,  and  through 
the  deepest  of  all  affections,  that  happiness  comes  to  the 
bosom  of  your  wife.  The  world  may  pile  its  honors 
upon  you  until  your  brain  goes  wild  with  delirious  ex- 
citement ;  wealth  may  pour  into  your  coffers  through 
long  years  of  prosperity ;  you  may  enjoy  the  fairest  re- 
wards of  enterprise  and  excellence  ;  but  if  all  these 
things  are  won  by  depriving  your  wife  of  your  society — 
by  driving  her  out  of  your  thoughts,  and  by  interfering 
with  the  constant  sympathetic  communion  of  your  heart 
with  hers,  she  cannot  but  feel  that  what  enriches  you  im- 
poverishes her,  and  that  your  gain,  whatever  it  may  be, 
is  at  her  expense.  She  may  enjoy  your  reputation  and 
your  wealth,  your  successes  and  good  fortunes,  but  you 
and  your  society  are  things  that  are  infinitely  more 
precious  to  her.  She  depends  upon  you,  naturally  and 
by  force  of  circumstances.  Friends  may  crowd  around 
her  ;  but  if  you  come  not,  she  is  not  satisfied.  She 
may  have  spread  before  her  a  thousand  delicacies  ;  but 
if  they  arc  unshared  with  you,  she  would  exchange  them 
all  for  an  orange  which  you  bring  home  to  her  as  an  evi- 
dence that  you  have  thought  of  her.  The  dress  you  se- 
lected when  in  the  city  is  the  dearest,  though  she  may  ac- 
knowledge to  herself  that  she  would  have  chosen  different 
colors  and  material.  In  short,  it  is  from  your  heart,  and 
the  world  coming  through  your  heart,  that  she  draws  that 
sustenance  and  s  jpport  which  her  deepest  nature  craves. 


158  Tit  comb's  Letters. 

Now,  how  are  you  dealing  by  this  wife  of  yours  ? 
Do  you  say  that  you  have  all  you  can  attend  to  in 
your  business,  and  that  she  must  look  out  for  herself? 
Do  you  forget  that  she  lives  in  the  house,  away  from 
the  excitements  of  the  world  which  so  much  interest 
you,  and  that  the  very  sweetest  excitement  of  the  day 
is  that  which  throws  the  warm  blood  in  her  heart  into 
eddies  as  she  hears  your  step  at  the  door  ?  Do  you  for- 
get that  she  has  no  pleasure  in  public  places  unless  you 
are  at  her  side  ?  Are  you  unmindful  that  she  has  no 
such  pleasant  walks  as  those  which  she  takes  with  her 
hand  upon  your  arm  ?  Do  you  ignore  the  fact  that  she 
has  a  claim  upon  your  time  ?  Do  you  fail  to  remember 
that  you  took  her  out  of  a  pleasant  family  circle,  away 
from  the  associations  of  her  childhood,  and  that  she  has 
no  society  in  all  the  wide  world  which  she  prizes  so 
highly  as  yours  ?  Do  you  forget  that  you  owe  your  first 
duty  to  her,  and  that  you  have  no  right  to  give  to  so- 
ciety, or  to  your  own  pleasure,  the  time  which  neces- 
sarily involves  neglect  of  her  ?  To  come  to  a  practical 
point — is  it  one  of  the  aims  of  your  life  to  give  to  your 
wife  a  portion  of  your  time  and  society,  so  that  she  shall 
not  always  be  obliged  to  sit  alone,  and  go  out  alone  ? 

There  are  some  poor  specimens  of  your  sex  in  the 
world  who  not  only  do  not  feel  that  their  wives  have 
any  special  claim  on  their  consideration  and  their  time, 
but  who  take  the  occasion,  when  in  the  presence  of  their 
wives,    to    make    themselves   generally     despicable.     I 


Special  Duties  of  the  Husband.         159 

know  a  man  whose  appearance  when  in  society,  ox 
mingling  in  the  common  affairs  of  business,  has  all  the 
blandness  and  fragrance  of  newly  mown  hay.  He 
touches  his  hat  to  the  ladies  whom  he  meets  in  the 
street  with  a  grace  which  a  D'Orsay  would  honor  with 
admiration,  and  gives  them  a  smile  as  genial  and  radiant 
as  a  harvest  moon.  He  bears  with  him  all  the  polish 
and  grace  of  a  gentleman.  The  concentrated  virtues  of 
all  the  lubricating  oils  could  not  add  to  the  ease  of  his 
manners.  People  cannot  imagine  how  such  a  man 
could  be  anything  but  the  best  of  husbands  ;  but  he  is 
not  any  such  thing.  If  I  were  a  Jew,  and  not  particu- 
larly fond  of  bacon,  I  should  say  that  he  was  a  hog  in 
his  own  house.  He  is,  there,  domineering,  peevish,  ex- 
acting, and  hateful.  I  have  never  known  him  to  speak 
an  affectionate  or  pleasant  word  to  the  best  of  wives. 
Nothing  is  out  of  place  in  the  house  for  which  she  is  not 
reproached  in  fretful  and  insulting  language.  Nothing 
goes  wrong  out  of  doors  for  which  he  does  not  take  re- 
venge, or  show  his  spite,  by  finding  fault  with  the  com- 
panion of  his  life.  He  criticises  her  cooking  and  her 
personal  appearance,  and,  in  short,  lets  off  upon  her 
wounded  but  patient  ear  all  the  foul  accumulations  of 
his  miserable  nature  and  most  contemptible  disposition. 
Although  some  powerful  impressions  received  in  earh 
life  have  induced  me  to  oppose  corporeal  punishment 
on  principle,  I  have  sometimes  wondered  whether  I 
should  be  entirely  inconsolable  if  he  should,  some  time^ 


l6o  TitcomFs  Letters. 

be    cowhided,  kicked,   cuffed,  maimed,   and    otherwise 
shamefully  entreated. 

But  this  is  an  extreme  case,  you  say.  Well,  it  ough/ 
lo  be  ;  but  will  you  just  stop  for  a  moment,  and  ask 
yourself  where  it  is  that  you  show  the  worst  side  of 
your  nature  ?  Where  is  it  that  you  feel  at  the  greatest 
liberty  to  exhibit  your  spleen,  to  give  way  to  your 
fretfulness,  to  speak  harsh  words,  to  make  hateful  little 
speeches  that  are  contemptible  from  their  unprovoked 
bitterness  ?  Is  it  among  your  fellows,  and  in  the  society 
of  other  ladies  that  you  take  occasion  to  say  your 
meanest  things  ?  No,  sir  !  You  go  home  to  your  wife  ; 
you  go  home  from  those  who  care  no  more  for  you  than 
they  do  for  a  thousand  others,  to  the  w^oman  whom  in 
the  presence  of  God  and  men  you  have  promised  to 
love  and  cherish  above  all  others  ;  to  the  woman  who 
loves  you,  and  who  regards  you  as  better  than  all  else 
earthly  ;  to  a  woman  who  is  unprotected  save  by  you, 
and  wholly  unprotected  from  you,  and  spit  your  spleen 
into  her  ear,  and  say  things  to  her  which,  if  any  one 
else  were  to  say,  would  secure  him  a  well  deserved 
caning.  Are  you  not  ashamed  of  this  ?  You  say  things 
to  her  which  you  would  not  dare  to  say  to  any  other 
lady,  however  much  you  might  be  provoked.  You  say 
them — O  courageous  friend  !  because  nobody  has  the 
right  to  cowhide  you  for  it.  Isn't  that  brave  and  manly  ? 
As  the  good  mothers  of  us  all  have  told  us  a  thousand 
times,  ''  don't  you  never  let  me  hear  of  your  doing  that 


special  Duties  of  the  Husband.        i6i 

again.'      It  isn't  pretty.     It  is  ineffably  wicked  and  das- 
tardly. 

That  husbands  and  wives  may  entertain  perfect  sym- 
pathy, there  should  be  the  closest  confidence  between 
them.  I  need  not  tell  the  wife  to  give  her  husband  the 
most  perfect  confidence  in  all  affairs.  She  does  this 
naturally,  if  her  husband  do  not  repulse  her.  But  you, 
young  husband,  do  not  give  your  wife  your  confidence^ 
you  do  not  make  her  your  confidante — you  have  an  idea 
that  your  business  is  not  your  wife's  business.  So  you 
keep  your  troubles,  your  successes — everything — to 
yourself.  Numberless  disturbances  of  married  life  be- 
gin exactly  at  this  point  Your  wife  receives  the  money 
for  her  personal  expenses,  and  for  the  expenses  of  the 
house,  at  your  hands.  You  do  not  tell  her  how  hardly 
it  has  been  won,  with  how  much  difficulty  you  have  con- 
trived to  get  it  into  your  purse,  and  how  necessary  it  is 
for  her  to  be  economical.  You  often  deceive  her,  out 
of  genuine  love  for  her,  into  the  belief  that  you  are 
really  doing  very  well  ;  and  yet  you  wonder  the  woman 
can  give  twenty  dollars  for  a  hat  and  fifty  dollars  for  a 
cloak.  Perhaps  you  chide  her  for  her  extravagance,  * 
and  so,  in  course  of  time,  she  comes  to  think  you  have 
got  a  niggardly  streak  in  you,  and  very  naturally  rebels 
against  it.  She  will  not  be  curtailed  in  her  expendi- 
tures. She  dresses  no  better  than  her  neighbors.  So 
you  run  your  fingers  through  your  hair,  and  sigh  over 
the  fact   that  you  have   got  an   extravagant  wife,  while 


1 62  Tit  comb's  Letters, 

she,  in  turn,  wonders  how  it  is  possible  for  a  loving 
husband  to  be  so  selfish  and  stingy. 

7  hus  for  life,  perhaps,  a  hostility  of  feeling  and  in- 
terest is  established,  which  might  all  have  been  pre- 
vented by  a  free  and  full  statement  of  your  circum- 
stances. This  would  interest  her  in,  and  identify  hei 
with,  all  your  trials.  It  is  entirely  rational  and  right 
that  your  wife  should  understand  the  basis  of  all  your 
requirements  of  her  ;  and,  when  she  does  this,  the 
chances  are  that  she  will  not  only  be  economical  her- 
self, but  will  point  out  leakages  in  your  prosperity  for 
ivhich  you  are  responsible  rather  than  herself.  It  is 
possible  that  you  have  a  companion  as  much  troubled 
by  figures  as  the  child-wife,  Dora,  was.  If  so,  I  am 
sorry  for  you  ;  but,  if  so,  very  luckily  she  will  do  what 
you  require  of  her  without  a  reason. 

I  understand  perfectly  the  desire  of  a  young  and 
sensitive  husband  to  give  his  wife  all  the  money  she 
wants.  You  would  fulfil  her  wishes  in  all  things ; 
especially  would  you  allow  her  those  means  that  will 
enable  her  to  gratify  her  tastes  in  dress  and  household 
equipage.  You  dislike  to  appear  unthrifty,  inefficient, 
or  mean,  and  you  are  willing  to  sacrifice  much,  that  no 
care,  no  small  economies,  no  apprehension  of  coming 
evil,  should  cloud  the  brow  of  the  one  you  love.  Well, 
I  honor  this  feeling,  for  it  has  its  birth  in  a  sensitive, 
manly  pride  ;  but  it  may  go  too  far — very  much  too 
far.     It  has  carried  many  a  man  straight  into  the  open 


special  Duties  of  the  Husband.         163 

throat  of  bankruptcy,  and  ruined  both  husband  and 
wife  for  h'fe.  No,  you  must  tell  her  all  about  it.  She 
must  know  what  your  objects  and  projects  are.  She 
must  know  what  your  income  is,  and  the  amount  of 
your  annual  expenses.  Then,  if  she  be  a  good  wife, 
and  worthy  of  a  good  husband,  she  will  become  more 
thoroughly  your  partner,  and  "  cut  her  garment  accord- 
ing to  the  cloth."  The  interest  which  you  thus  secure 
from  her  in  your  business  affairs,  will  be  the  greatest 
possible  comfort  to  you.  She  will  enjoy  all  your  suc- 
cesses, for  they  become  her  own.  She  will  sympathize 
in  all  your  trials,  and  you  will  find  great  consolation  in 
feeling  that  there  is  one  heart  in  the  world  that  under- 
stands you. 

And  this  matter  of  confidence  between  you  and  your 
wife  must  be  carried  into  everything,  for  she  is  your  life- 
partner — your  next  soul.  There  is  no  way  by  which 
she  can  understand  fully  her  relations  to  the  commu- 
nity and  its  various  interests,  save  by  understanding  your 
own.  So  I  say  in  closing,  that  to  your  wife  you  owe  a 
reasonable  portion  of  your  time  and  society,  the  very 
choicest  side  of  your  nature  and  character  when  in  her 
society,  and  your  fullest  confidence  in  all  the  affairs  con- 
nected with  your  business,  your  ambitions,  your  hopes, 
and  your  fears.  In  the  fierce  conflicts  of  life  you  will 
find  abundant  recompense  for  all  this.  Your  wife  will 
soften  your  resentments,  assuage  your  disappointments, 
pour  balm  upon   your  wounded  spirit,  and  harmonize 


1 64  Titcomb's  Letters. 

and  soften  you.  At  the  same  time,  the  exercise  of  heaii 
and  soul  which  this  will  give  her,  will  make  her  a  nobler, 
freer,  better  woman.  It  will  give  her  greater  breadth 
and  strength  of  mind,  and  deepen  her  sensibilities.  To 
a  pair  thus  living  and  acting,  may  well  be  applied  a 
couplet  which  occurs  in  that  charming  picture  painted 
by  Pinckney,  of  the  Indian  husband  and  his  pale-faced 
wife  :— 

*'  She  humanizes  him,  and  he 
Educates  her  to  hberty, " 


LETTER   Iir. 

SPECIAL  DUTIES  OF   THE    WIFE. 

And  when  the  King's  decree  which  he  shall  make  shall  be  published 
throughout  all  his  empire  (for  it  is  great),  all  the  wives  shall  give  to  iheii 
husbands  honor,  both  to  great  and  small. 

— Book  of  Esther. 

Teach  the    young   women  to   be  sober,    to  love  their    husbands,  to    love 

their    children,  to  be    discreet,  keepers    at  home,  good,  obedient  to    their 

own  husbands. 

— St.  Paul. 

YOUNG  wife,  I  talked  to  your  husband  in  my  last 
letter,  and  now  I  address  you.  I  told  him  that 
you  had  a  claim  on  his  time  and  society.  There  are 
qualifications  of  this  claim  which  concern  you  particu- 
larly, and  so  I  speak  to  you  about  them.  Your  husband 
labors  all  day — every  day — and  during  the  waking  hours, 
between  the  conclusion  of  his  labor  at  night  and  its  com- 
mencement in  the  morning,  he  must  have  recreation  of 
some  kind  ;  and  here  comes  in  your  duty.  If  you  do 
not  make  his  home  pleasant,  so  that  the  fulfilment  of 
his  duty  to  you  shall  be  a  sweet  pleasure  to  him,  you 
cannot  hope  for  much  of  his  company.  What  his  na- 
ture craves  it  will  have — must   have.     He  cannot  be  a 


i66  Tit  comb's  Letters. 

slave  all  the  time — a  slave  to  his  work  by  day  and  a 
slave  to  you  by  night.  He  must  have  hours  of  free- 
dom ;  and  happy  are  you  if,  of  his  own  choice,  he  take 
the  enjoyment  you  offer  in  the  place  of  anything  which 
the  outside  world  has  to  give.  I  suppose  there  are  few 
men  who,  when  their  work  is  over,  and  their  supper 
eaten,  do  not  have  a  desire  to  go  down  town  ''  to  meet 
a  man,"  or  visit  "the  post-office."  There  is  a  natural 
desire  in  every  heart  to  have,  every  day,  an  hour  of 
social  freedom — a  few  minutes,  at  least,  of  walk  in  the 
open  air  and  contact  with  the  minds  of  other  men. 
This  is  entirely  a  natural  and  necessary  thing  ;  and  you 
should  encourage  rather  than  seek  to  prevent  it,  unless 
your  husband  is  inclined  to  visit  bad  places,  and  asso- 
ciate with  bad  companions. 

Precisely  here  is  a  dangerous  point  for  both  husband 
and  wife.  The  wife  has  been  alone  during  the  day,  and 
thinks  that  her  husband  ought  to  spend  the  whole  even- 
ing with  her.  The  husband  has  been  confined  to  his 
labor,  and  longs  for  an  hour  of  freedom,  in  whatever 
direction  his  feet  may  choose  to  wander.  Perhaps  the 
wife  thinks  he  has  no  business  to  wander  at  all,  and  that 
his  custom  is  to  wander  too  widely  and  too  long.  She 
complains,  and  becomes  exacting.  She  cannot  bear  to 
have  her  husband  out  of  her  sight  for  a  moment,  after 
he  quits  his  work.  Now,  if  there  be  anything  in  all  this 
world  that  will  make  a  husband  hate  his  wife,  it  is  a 
constant  attempt  on  her  part  to  monopolize  all  his  lei' 


special  Duties  of  the  Wife.  167 

sure  time  and  all  his  society,  to  curtail  his  freedom,  and 
a  tendency  to  be  for  ever  fretting  his  ears  with  the  state- 
ment that  "  she  is  nothing,  of  course,"  that  he  '■'■  does 
not  care  anything  about  her,"  and  that  he  dislikes  his 
home.  Treatment  like  this  will  just  as  certainly  rouse 
all  the  perverseness  in  a  man's  nature  as  a  spark  will 
ignite  gunpowder.  Injustice  and  inconsiderateness  will 
not  go  down,  especially  when  administered  by  a  man's 
companion.  He  knows  that  he  loves  his  home,  and 
that  he  needs  and  has  a  right  to  a  certain  amount  of  his 
time,  away  from  home  ;  and  if  he  be  treated  as  if  he 
possessed  no  such  necessity  and  right,  he  will  soon  learn 
to  be  all  that  his  wife  represents  him  to  be.  I  tell  you 
that  a  man  wants  very  careful  handling.  You  must  re- 
member that  he  can  owe  no  duty  to  you  which  does  not 
involve  a  duty  from  you.  You  have  the  charge  of  the 
home,  and  if  you  expect  him  to  spend  a  portion,  or  all 
of  his  evening  in  it,  you  must  make  it  attractive.  If  you 
expect  a  man,  as  a  matter  of  duty,  to  give  any  consider- 
able amount  of  time  to  your  society,  daily,  through  a 
long  series  of  years,  you  are  to  see  that  that  society  is 
worth  something  to  him.  Where  are  your  accomplish- 
ments ?  Where  are  your  books  ?  Where  are  your  sub- 
jects of  conversation  ? 

But  let  us  take  up  this  question  separately  :  how  shall 
a  wife  make  her  home  pleasant  and  her  society  attrac- 
tive ?  This  is  a  short  question,  but  a  full  answer  would 
make  a  book.     I  can  only  touch  a  few  points.     In  the 


1 68  TitcomU's  Letters. 

first  place,  she  should  never  indulge  in  fault-finding.  Il 
a  man  has  learned  to  expect  that  he  will  invariably  be 
found  fault  with  by  his  wife,  on  his  return  home,  and 
that  the  burden  of  her  words  will  be  complaint,  he  has 
absolutely  no  pleasure  to  anticipate  and  none  to  enjoy. 
There  is  but  one  alternative  for  a  husband  in  such  a 
case  :  either  to  steel  himself  against  complaints,  or  be 
harrowed  up  by  them  and  made  snappish  and  waspish. 
They  never  produce  a  good  effect  under  any  circum- 
stances whatever.  There  should  always  be  a  pleasant 
word  and  look  ready  for  him  who  returns  from  the  toils 
of  the  day,  wearied  with  earning  the  necessaries  of  the 
family.  If  a  pretty  pair  of  slippers  lie  before  the  fire, 
ready  for  his  feet,  so  much  the  better. 

Then,  again,  the  desire  to  be  pleasing  in  person  should 
never  leave  a  wife  for  a  day.  The  husband  who  comes 
home  at  night,  and  finds  his  wife  dressed  to  receive  him, 
— dressed  neatly  and  tastefully,  because  she  wishes  to 
be  pleasant  to  his  eye,  cannot,  unless  he  be  a  brute, 
neglect  her,  or  slight  her  graceful  pains-taking.  It  is  a 
compliment  to  him.  It  displays  a  desire  to  maintain 
the  charms  which  first  attracted  him,  and  to  keep  intact 
the  silken  bonds  which  her  tasteful  girlhood  had  fastened 
to  his  fancy. 

I  have  seen  things  managed  very  differently  from  this 
I  have  known  an  undressed  head  of  "  horrid  hair  "  worn 
all  day  long,  because  nobody  but  the  husband  would  see 
it.     I  have  seen  breakfast  dresses  with  sugar  plantations 


special  Duties  of  the  Wife,  169 

on  them  of  very  respectable  size,  and  most  disagreeable 
stickiness.  In  short,  I  have  seen  slatterns,  whose  kiss 
would  not  tempt  the  hungriest  hermit  that  ever  forswore 
women,  and  was  sorry  for  it.  I  have  seen  them  with 
neither  collar  nor  zone, — with  a  person  which  did  not 
possess  a  single  charm  to  a  husband  with  his  eyes  open, 
and  in  his  right  mind.  This  is  all  wrong,  young  wife, 
for  there  is  no  being  in  this  world  for  whom  it  is  so 
much  for  your  interest  to  dress,  as  for  your  husband. 
Your  happiness  depends  much  on  your  retaining  not  only 
the  esteem  of  your  husband,  but  his  admiration.  He 
should  see  no  greater  neatness  and  no  more  taste  in 
material  and  fitness,  in  any  woman's  dress,  than  in 
yours  ;  and  there  is  no  individual  in  the  world  before 
whom  you  should  always  appear  with  more  thorough 
tidiness  of  person  than  your  husband.  If  you  are  care- 
less in  this  particular,  you  absolutely  throw  away  some 
of  the  strongest  and  most  charming  influences  which 
you  possess.  What  is  true  of  your  person  is  also  true 
of  your  house.  If  your  house  be  disorderly  ;  if  dust 
cover  the  table,  and  invite  the  critical  finger  to  write 
your  proper  title  ;  if  the  furniture  look  as  if  it  were 
tossed  into  a  room  from  a  cart ;  if  your  table-cloth  have 
a  more  intimate  acquaintance  with  gravy  than  with  soap, 
and  from  cellar  to  garret  there  be  no  order,  do  you 
blame  a  husband  for  not  wanting  to  sit  down  and  spend 
his  evening  with   you  ?     I  should  blame  him,  of  course, 

on  general  principles,  but,  as  all  men  are  not  so  sensible 
8 


I/O  Tit  comb's  Letters. 

as  I  am,  I  should   charitably  entertain    all    proper  ex- 
cuses. 

Still  again,  have  you  anything  to  talk  about — any- 
thing better  than  scandal — with  which  to  interest  and 
refresh  his  weary  mind  ?  I  believe  in  the  interchange 
of  caresses,  as  I  have  told  you  before,  but  kisses  are 
only  the  spice  of  life.  You  cannot  always  sit  on  your 
husband's  knee,  for,  in  the  first  place,  it  would  tire  him, 
and  in  the  second  place,  he  would  get  sick  of  it.  You 
should  be  one  with  your  husband,  but  never  in  the 
shape  of  a  parasite.  He  should  be  able  to  see  growth  in 
your  soul,  independent  of  him  ;  and  whenever  he  truly 
feels  that  he  has  received  from  you  a  stimulus  to  prog- 
ress and  to  goodness,  you  have  refreshed  him,  and 
made  a  great  advance  into  his  heart. 

He  should  see  that  you  really  have  a  strong  desire  to 
make  him  happy,  and  to  retain  for  ever  the  warmest 
place  in  his  respect,  his  admiration,  and  his  affection. 
Enter  into  all  his  plans  with  interest.  Sweeten  all  his 
troubles  with  your  sympathy.  Make  him  feel  that  there 
is  one  ear  always  open  to  the  revelation  of  his  experien- 
ces, that  there  is  one  heart  that  never  misconstrues  him, 
that  there  is  one  refuge  for  him  in  all  circumstances  ; 
and  that  in  all  weariness  of  body  and  soul,  there  is  one 
warm  pillow  for  his  head,  beneath  which  a  heart  is  beat- 
ing with  the  same  unvarying  truth  and  affection,  through 
all  gladness  and  sadness,  as  the  faithful  chronometer 
suffers  no  perturbation  of  its  rhythm  by  shine  or  shower. 


special  Duties  of  the  Wife.  171 

A  husband  who  has  such  a  wife  as  this,  has  httle  temp- 
tation to  spend  much  time  away  from  home.  He  can- 
not stay  away  long  at  a  time.  He  may  *'  meet  a  man," 
but  the  man  will  not  long  detain  him  from  his  wife.  He 
may  go  to  the  "  post-office,"  but  he  will  not  call  upon 
the  friend's  wife  on  the  way.  He  can  do  better.  The 
great  danger  is  that  he  will  love  his  home  too  well— that 
he  will  neither  be  willing  to  have  you  visit  your  aunts 
and  cousins,  nor,  without  a  groan,  accept  an  invitation 
to  tea  at  your  neighbor's. 

But  1  leave  this  special  point,  to  which  I  have  devoted 
my  space  somewhat  improvidently.  There  is  one  rela- 
tion which  you  bear  to  your  husband,  or  one  aspect  of 
your  relation  to  him,  to  which  I  have  not  alluded  suffi- 
ciently. You  are  not  only  the  wife  of  his  bosom — the 
object  of  his  affections,  but  you  have  a  business  relation 
with  him — you  are  his  helpmate.  To  a  very  great  ex- 
tent you  are  dependent  upon  him,  but  you  are  also  his 
assistant, — bound  to  use  his  money  economically,  and 
to  aid,  so  far  as  you  can,  in  saving  and  accumulating  it. 
The  woman  who  feels  that  she  has  a  right  to  spend 
every  cent  that  ''  the  old  man"  allowi  her,  and  that  all 
she  gets  out  of  him  is  hers  to  lavish  vipon  her  vanities, 
takes  a  very  low  view  of  her  relations  to  him.  It  is 
simply  the  view  of  a  mistress,  and  is  utterly  dishonora- 
ble— utterly  mercenary.  The  money  which  he  puts  into 
your  hand  endows  you  simply  with  a  stewardship.  You 
have  no  right  to  waste  it,  or  to  part  with  it,  for  anything 


1/2  Titcomb' s  Letters. 

but  such  values  as  are  consistent  with  his  means.  You 
have  consented  to  be  the  partner  of  his  life,  and  you 
have  no  more  right  to  squander  his  money  than  his  busi- 
ness partner  has.  It  is  your  duty  to  husband  it ;  and 
happy  are  you  if  your  companion  has  such  confidence  in 
your  faithfulness  to  him  and  his  interest,  that  he  puts 
money  into  your  hand  always  willingly,  believing  that  it 
will  be  parted  with  judiciously,  and  with  discreet  and 
conscientious  regard  to  his  means  and  abilities.  If  your 
husband  has  no  confidence  in  your  economy  and  dis- 
cretion, and  consequently  stints  you,  and  absolutely 
feels  obliged  to  place  you  in  the  position  of  a  favorite 
dependent  and  pensioner — a  plaything  or  a  housekeeper 
for  whom  he  has  got  to  pay — you  are  not  happy  by  any 
means. 

You  can  do  very  much  in  your  character  of  helpmate 
to  lighten  your  husband's  cares,  and  relieve  him  from 
anxieties.  If  he  finds  you  looking  closely  after  his  in- 
terests, buying  economically  the  food  for  his  table,  and 
never  wastefully  sacrificing  your  old  dresses  in  conse- 
quence of  your  thirst  for  new,  always  counting  the  cost 
of  every  object  which  you  may  desire,  you  relieve  his 
mind  from  a  load  of  care  which  no  man  can  carry  with- 
out embarrassment.  A  man  who  feels  that  there  is  in 
his  own  house  a  leak  which  will  absorb  all  he  may  earn, 
be  that  little  or  much,  and  that  he  has  got  to  suffer  it, 
and  suffer  from  it,  or  institute  restrictions  that  will  prob- 
ably  make  him  appear  mean   in  the  eyes  of  his  wife 


special  Duties  of  the  Wife.  173 

(wasteful  wives  are  very  apt  to  have  mean  husbands), 
the  great  stimulus  and  encouragement  of  his  industry 
are  taken  away  from  him. 

The  full  appreciation  of  your  character,  as  your  hus- 
band's helpmate,  depends  upon  the  thorough  identifica- 
tion of  yourself  with  him.  Of  this  I  have  talked  before, 
and  call  it  up  again  for  the  purpose  of  showing  you  that 
there  is  absolutely  no  aspect  of  your  relation  to  him 
which  can  be  considered  legitimate  and  complete  that 
does  not  involve  his  identification.  It  is  an  equal  thing. 
You  are  interested  in  your  husband's  expenditures  ;  and 
he  is  interested  in  yours.  You  have  cast  in  your  lot 
together — your  whole  lot ;  and  he  has  no  more  right 
to  expend  his  money  in  such  a  way  as  to  embarrass  you, 
and  deprive  you  of  what  you  need,  than  you  have  to 
squander  the  means  which  he  places  .at  your  disposal. 
It  is  a  partnership  concern,  and  if  you  succeed  in  man- 
aging your  department  of  it  in  such  a  way  as  to  secure 
your  husband's  confidence,  fairly  considering  the  cost  of 
every  cent  to  him,  he  will  feel  that  he  is  appreciated, 
honored,  and  loved.  Very  likely  he  will  understand 
this  better  than  tasteful  comforts  and  tender  demonstra- 
tions of  a  lighter  nature — demonstrations  that  involve 
no  self-denial. 


LETTER   IV. 

THE  REARING   OF  CHILDREN 

Once  thou  wert  hidden  in  her  painful  side, 

A  boon  unknown,  a  mystery  and  a  fear  ; 

Strange  pangs  she  bore  for  thee ;  but  He  whose  name 

Is  everlasting  Love  hath  healed  her  pain  ; 

And  paid  her  suffering  hours  with  living  joy. 

— Henry  Alford. 

Hall,  wedded  Love  !  mysterious  law  ;    true  source 
Of  human  offspring ! 

—Milton. 

Y  theory  of  life  is  that  it  is  a  school  of  mental 
and  moral  development — that  God  intended  that 
each  soul  should  pass  under  a  series  of  influences,  whose 
office  it  should  be  to  evolve  all  its  faculties,  and  soften 
and  harmonize  them.  To  this  end,  he  has  laid  upon 
each  a  sweet  necessity  to  adopt  the  ordinances  he  has 
contrived.  When  I  speak  of  necessity,  I  do  not  mean 
compulsion,  save  in  a  limited  sense — compulsion  entire- 
ly consistent  with  individual  election.  Thus  I  believe 
that  there  is  a  very  material  portion  of  mental  and 
tnoral  development    which    cannot  be  achieved  out  of 


M 


TJie  Rearing  of  Children.  175 

the  marriage  relation  ;  and,  to  bring  men  and  women 
into  this  relation,  he  has  given  them  the  sentiment  of 
love,  and  the  desire  of  mutual  personal  possession. 
This  sentiment  and  desire  are  made  so  strong  that  they 
may  hardly  be  resisted,  so  that  all  shall  choose  to  be 
foined  in  conjugal  relations.  Thus  the  strong  are  soft- 
ened by  the  weak,  and  the  weak  are  invigorated  by  the 
strong  ;  and  the  influences  of  men  and  women  upon 
each  other  become  the  most  powerful  agencies  for  their 
mutual  harmonious  growth.  But  this  is  not  all.  When 
a  pair  have  become  united  in  wedlock,  there  rises  in 
each  healthy  heart  a  desire  for  offspring.  Nothing  is 
more  natural  than  this  desire,  and  nothing  more  im- 
perative. Its  germ  is  seen  far  back  in  childhood.  The 
boy's  love  of  pets  is  but  a  manifestation  of  the  primary 
outreachings  of  this  desire,  which  fasten  at  first  upon 
the  only  possible  objects ;  and  there  probably  never 
lived  a  little  girl  that  did  not  love  her  doll  beyond  all 
other  playthings.  She  takes  it  first  and  retains  it  the 
longest  of  any. 

This  brings  me  to  the  subject  of  children,  as  legiti- 
mately something  to  be  talked  about  in  these  letters. 
The  having  and  the  rearing  of  children  form  one  of 
God's  ordinances  for  making  you  what  you  should  be — • 
what  he  wishes  you  to  be.  They  are  as  necessary  to 
you  as  you  are  to  them.  You  can  no  more  reach  the 
highest  and  most  harmonious  development  of  which 
you  are  capable  without  children,  than  you  can  develop 


1/6  Titcomb's  Letters. 

a  muscle  without  exercise.  Without  them,  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  regions  of  your  nature  must  for  ever 
remain  without  appropriate  and  direct  culture.  The 
offices  of  children  in  the  culture  of  their  parents  arc 
manifold.  In  the  first  place,  they  arc  a  conservative 
and  regulating  force.  A  pair  living  together  without 
children  naturally  become  selfish.  A  pair  unwatched 
by  innocent  eyes  are  often  thrown  off  their  guard  in 
their  language  towards,  and  treatment  of,  each  other. 
They  lose  one  great  stimulus  to  industry,  and  do  not 
possess  that  which  is,  perhaps,  the  strongest  bond,  under 
all  the  circumstances  of  life,  which  can  bind  husband 
and  wife  together.  There  can  be  no  true  development 
of  heart  and  mind  where  pure  selfishness  is  the  pre- 
dominant principle  ;  so  God  ordains  that  in  each  house 
there  shall  be  little  ones,  more  precious  than  all  else, 
who  shall  engage  the  sympathy,  tax  the  efforts,  and 
absorb  the  love  of  those  who  sustain  to  them  the  rela* 
tion  of  parents.  The  law  is  irreversible  that  our  best 
individual  progress  in  mental  and  moral  good  shall  be 
attained  by  efforts  devoted  to  others  ;  and  in  children, 
each  parent  finds  the  nearest  objects  of  such  devotion. 
And  there  is,  perhaps,  nothing  which  so  tends  to  soften 
the  heart,  to  develop  the  kindlier  affections,  and  to  un- 
lock and  chasten  the  sympathies  of  men  and  women,  as 
the  children  which  sit  around  their  table,  and  frolic 
upon  their  knees. 

When    I    sec  a   man   stop    in  the    streets  to    comfort 


The  Rearing  of  Children.  177 

some  weeping  child,  or  to  get  a  kiss  from  a  pair  of 
juvenile  lips,  I  know  that  he  has  passed  through  a 
blessed  experience  with  children.  A  helpless  little  head 
has  been  laid  upon  his  shoulder,  in  some  hushed  and 
liallowed  room  where  the  great  mystery  of  birth  has 
been  enacted.  Some  feeble,  wailing  boy,  pressed  to  his 
breast,  has  been  borne,  night  after  night,  with  weary 
arms,  back  and  forth  in  the  dimly  lighted  chamber 
while  the  mother  caught  her  short  half  hours  of  rest. 
More  likely  still,  some  precious  warbler,  her  eyes  closed, 
her  lips  for  ever  stilled,  her  golden  curls  parted  away 
from  a  marble  forehead,  a  white  rose  in  her  hand,  has 
been  laid  in  the  grave,  and  the  sod  that  covers  her  has 
been  fertilized  by  his  tears.  Oh  !  there  is  something  in 
loving  dependent  children,  in  tender  care  for  them,  and 
in  losing  them,  even,  which  bestows  upon  the  soul  the 
most  enriching  of  its  experien:<;es.  They  make  us  ten- 
der and  sympathetic,  and  a  thousand  times  reward  us 
for  all  we  do  for  them.  We  cannot  get  along  without 
them  ;  you  cannot  get  along  without  them.  You  can- 
not afford  to  do  it.  They  are  cheap  at  the  price  of 
pain  and  sickness,  and  care  and  toil. 

What  do  I  mean  by  talk  like  this  ?  What  do  I  mean 
by  the  utterance  of  common-place  like  this  ?  I  mean 
simply  to  reveal  some  of  the  considerations  upon  which 
I  condemn  a  great  and  growing  \ice  among  the  young 
married  people  of  this  country — a  vice  which  ijivolves 

essential   murder    in    many    instances,    and    swells    the 
8* 


lyS  Titcomb's  Letters. 

profits  of  a  thousand  nostrum  venders.  And  what  do  I 
mean  by  this  ?  I  mean  that  in  thousands  of  American 
homes  children  have  come  to  be  regarded  either  as 
nuisances  or  luxuries.  I  mean  that,  in  these  homes,  to 
have  children  is  deemed  a  great  misfortune.  They  are 
the  bugbear  that  threatens  people  away  from  the  mar- 
riage relation,  and  frightens  them  when  in  it.  I  mean 
that  men  and  women,  more  and  more  in  this  country, 
hug  to  themselves  their  selfish  delights,  cherish  their 
selfish  ease,  and  consult  their  selfish  convenience,  with- 
out a  consideration  of  their  duties  as  men  and  women, 
and  without  a  comprehension  of  the  fact  that  they  can 
only  find  their  highest  enjoyment  by  obedience  to  the 
laws  of  God,  natural  and  revealed.  I  mean  that  there 
are  multitudes  who  envy  those  unblest  with  children, 
and  congratulate  them  upon  their  poverty.  I  mean  that 
there  are  husbands  who  grudge  every  charm  lost  by 
their  wives  in  the  duties  and  sacrifices  of  maternity, 
and  that  there  are  wives  who  are  made  spiteful  and 
angry  by  the  interference  of  children  with  their  indolent 
habits,  their  love  of  freedom  and  self-indulgence  and 
their  vain  pursuits.  I  mean  that  the  number  is  increas- 
ing of  those  who  receive  the  choicest  earthly  blessings 
God  can  confer  with  ingratitude  and  wilful  complain- 
ings. That  is  precisely  what  I  mean  ;  and  I  do  not  hesi- 
tate  to  say  that  it  is  all  a  very  shabby  and  sinful  thing, 
and  that  it  is  high  time  that  those  who  are  guilty  were 
ashamed  of  it. 


TJic  Rearing  of  Children.  179 

A  woman  who,  by  cool  and  calculating  choice,  is  no 
mother,  and  who  congratulates  herself  that  she  has  no 
'*  young  ones  "  tied  to  her  apron  strings,  is  either  very 
unfortunately  organized,  or  she  is  essentially  immoral. 
A  man  who  can  tip  up  his  feet,  over  against  his  lonely 
wife,  and  thank  his  stars  that  he  has  no  ''  squalling 
brats"  around  to  bother  him,  is  a  brute.  It  is  time 
that  some  one  protest,  and  I  hereby  do  protest,  against 
one  of  the  great  sins  and  shames  of  the  age, — a  sin 
which  deadens  the  conscie.ice,  bestializes  the  affections, 
and  ruins  the  health  of  the  mistaken  creatures  who 
practise  it, — which  cuts  the  channel  from  one  end  of  the 
land  to  the  other  of  a  broader  Ganges  than  that  which 
bubbles  along  its  heathenish  bank  with  the  expiring 
breath  of  infancy. 

There  is  growing  up  a  cowardly  disposition  to  shirk 
trouble  and  responsibility  in  this  matter.  ''  I  don't  feel 
competent  to  bring  up  a  family  of  children."  Who 
does  ?  It  is  a  part  of  your  education  to  acquire  compe- 
tence for  this  work.  "  But  I  don't  feel  like  assuming 
such  a  responsibility."  That  responsibility  is  precisely 
what  you  need  to  keep  you  in  the  path  you  ought  to 
walk  in.  "But  I  can't  afford  it."  Are  there  two  pairs 
of  hands  between  you,  and  not  sufficient  patience,  cour- 
age, and  enterprise  to  do  the  duties  of  life  ?  "  But  I 
am  afraid  that  I  should  lose  my  children.  They  are 
liable  to  so  many  accidents  that  it  would  be  very 
strange  if   I  should   be  able    to  raise  a  familv  without 


i8o  Titcomb' s  Letters. 

losing  one  or  two."  The  sweetest  and  truest  couplet 
that  the  Queen's  laureate  ever  wrote  tells  the  story  upon 
this  point  : — 

♦'  'Tis  better  to  have  loved  and  lost 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all." 

Ask  the  father  and  the  mother,  weeping  over  tne 
coffin  of  their  first-born  and  only  child,  whether  they 
regret  that  the  child  was  born.  Ask  them  the  sam.e 
question  in  after  years,  when  that  little  life  has  come  to 
be  a  thread  of  gold  running  through  all  their  expe- 
riences. If  they  give  an  affirmative  answer,  I  will  be 
silent.  No,  my  married  friends — you  who  shrink  from 
accepting  the  choicest  privilege  bestowed  upon  you  — 
you  are  all  wrong  ;  and  if  you  live,  you  will  arrive  at  a 
period  where  you  will  see  that  there  are  rewards  and 
punishments  attached  to  this  thing.  What  is  to  sustain 
you  when,  in  old  age — the  charms  of  youth  all  past, 
desire  extinguished,  and  the  grasshopper  a  burden — you 
sit  at  your  lonely  board,  and  think  of  the  strangers  who 
are  to  enjoy  the  fruit  of  your  most  fruitless  life  ?  Who 
are  to  feed  the  deadening  affections  of  your  heart  and 
keep  life  bright  and  desirable  to  its  close,  but  the  little 
ones  whom  you  rear  to  manhood  and  womanhood  ? 
What  is  to  reward  you  for  the  toils  of  life  if  you  do  not 
feel  that  you— your  thoughts,  your  blood,  your  influence 
—are  to  be  continued  into  the  future  ?  Do  you  like  the 
idea  of  having  hirelings,  or  those  who  are  anxious  to  ge? 


The  Rearing  of  Children.  i8i 

rid  of  you,  about  your  dying  bed  ?  Is  it  not  worth 
something  to  have  a  family  of  children  whom  you  have 
reared,  lingering  about  your  grave,  with  tears  on  their 
cheeks  and  blessings  on  their  lips — tears  for  a  great 
loss,  and  blessings  on  the  hallowed  influence  which  has 
trained  them  in  the  path  of  duty,  and  directed  them 
to  life's  noblest  ends  ? 

This  is  a  subject  which  has  not  been  talked  about 
much  publicly,  but  it  is  a  very  serious  thing  with  me, 
and  it  ought  to  be  with  you.  I  love  the  family  life.  I 
esteem  a  Christian  family — the  more  numerous  the  bet- 
ter— one  of  the  most  beautiful  subjects  of  contemplation 
the  earth  affords.  A  father,  thoroughly  chastened  and 
warmed  in  all  his  affections,  and  a  mother  overflowing 
with  love  for  the  dear  children  God  has  given  her, 
devoted  to  their  welfare,  and  guiding  them  by  her  ten- 
der counsels,  sitting  at  their  board  with  the  sprightly 
forms  and  bright  eyes  of  childhood  around  the  table,  or 
all  kneeling  at  the  family  altar,  form  a  sight  more 
nearly  allied  to  heaven  than  any  other  which  the  world 
presents.  Do  you  suppose  such  a  father  would  be  what 
he  is  but  for  his  children  ?  Do  you  believe  such  a 
mother  would  be  the  blessed  being  she  is  but  for  the 
development  which  she  receives  in  her  maternal  office  ? 
No,  you  know  that  both  have  been  chastened,  elevated, 
purified,  made  strong,  and  essentially  glorified,  by  a 
relation  as  sanctifying  as  it  is  sacred. 

So  I  say,  in  closing,  that  you  can  never  realize  the 


1 82  Titcomb's  Letters. 

very  choicest  and  richest  blessings  that  Heaven  intends 
for  you,  in  your  relations  as  husband  and  wife,  without 
children.  Whom  God  deprives  of  these,  he  has  other 
thought  for,  and  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  them  ;  but  to 
the  multitude,  I  say,  give  welcome  to  each  new  comer 
whom  God  has  lighted  with  a  spark  of  his  own  divinity 
to  grow  in  glory  till  it  shall  outshine  the  star  beneath 
which  it  entered  existence,  such  greeting  as  you  would 
give  an  angel.  Clothe  him  in  white,  bear  him  to  the 
baptismal  font,  rejoice  over  him  as  a  testimonial  that 
God  remembers  you,  and  celebrate  the  day  when  he  was 
given  to  your  arms  in  such  a  manner  that  he  shall  know 
that  it  is  a  blessed  thing  to  be  born.  Sing  to  him  pleas- 
ant songs,  and  scatter  roses  upon  his  cradle.  "  Of  such 
is  the  kingdom  of  heaven,"  and  in  such  the  Saviour  has 
given  to  you  those  to  whose  pure,  simple,  and  innocent 
likeness  he  would  have  you  conform  your  heart.  You 
are  to  rear  your  boy  to  manhood,  and  educate  him  to 
be  a  man  ;  and  he,  in  turn,  is  to  educate  you  to  be  a 
child,  and  protect  your  helpless  years.  It  is  an  even 
thing,  and  a  beautiful  exhibition  of  that  wonderful 
machinery  by  which  all  are  made  to  bear  equal  burden 
?'n  evolving  the  noblest  life  of  the  race. 


LETTER   V. 

SEPARA  TION—FAMIL  Y  RELA  TIVES— SERVANTS^ 

Whate'er  the  uplooking  soul  admires, 
Whate'er  the  senses'  banquet  be, 
Fatigues,  at  last,  with  vain  desires. 
Or  sickens  by  satiety. 

But,  truly,  my  delight  was  more 
In  her  to  whom  I'm  bound  for  aye 
Yesterday  than  the  day  before. 
And  more  to-day  than  yesterday  ! 

— The  Angel  in  the  House. 

THERE  are  so  many  subjects  which  call  for  notice 
in  my  letters  to  you  that  one  letter,  at  least,  must 
be  a  piece  of  patchwork.  I  propose  that  this  one  shall 
bear  such  a  character. 

It  is  doubtless  a  general  experience  that  a  husband 
and  wife,  after  living  together  for  a  time,  become  in  a 
measure  tired  of  one  another's  company.  Before  mar- 
riage, they  were  essential  to  each  other  ;  after  long 
months  of  intimacy,  a  sense  of  monotony  creeps  upon 
them,  and  a  separation  for  a  few  weeks  is  regarded  as 
desirable,  or  not  to  be  regretted.     The  husband  would 


1 84  Titcomb's  Letters. 

like  a  little  more  freedom  ;  the  wife,  perhaps,  pines  fof 
the  associations  of  her  free  and  careless  girlhood. 
When  this  feeling  comes  upon  a  married  pair,  the  time 
for  a  temporary  separation  has  arrived,  and  the  quicker 
it  is  instituted  the  better.  The  object  and  end  of  it  is 
to  prove  to  both  that  they  cannot  be  happy  M^hen 
separated.  The  first  week  will  pass  off  very  pleasantly  ; 
the  second  will  find  them  rather  longing  for  one  an- 
other's society  again  ;  the  third  will  burden  the  mails 
with  tender  epistles  in  which  the  romance  and  ardor  of 
courtship  will  be  revived  ;  the  fourth  will  convince  the 
wife  that  she  has  the  very  dearest  husband  in  the  world, 
and  the  husband  will  carry  his  package  of  letters  in  his 
breast  pocket  and  sigh  ;  the  fifth  will  find  a  day  set  for 
the  greatly  longed-for  re-union,  about  which  both  will 
be  thinking  all  the  time  ;  and  the  sixth  will  bring  the 
wife  home,  with  all  her  precious  beauty  and  band-boxes  ; 
and  such  a  meeting  will  take  place  as  well  might  make 
an  observing  old  bachelor  commit  suicide.  Well,  they 
have  learned  a  lesson  which  they  will  remember  as  long 
as  they  shall  live.  It  is  proved  to  them  that  they  can 
not  be  happy  apart,  and  that  separation  will  always  be 
a  calamity. 

Various  circumstances  spring  up  in  the  course  of  life 
which  seem  to  dictate  a  temporary  separation,  on  the 
score  of  economy  or  profit.  A  man  will  desire  to  go 
into  a  distant  city,  for  a  sojourn  of  months  and  perhaps 
years,  that  he  may  buy  and  sell  and  get  gain.     The  wife 


Separation — Family  Relatives — Servants.  185 

may  not  go,  as  it  would  interfere  with  the  profits.  This 
is  one  case  ;  and  there  may  be  a  thousand  others  in 
which  pohcy  dictates  a  hke  temporary  separation.  My 
counsel  is  to  regard  all  such  inducements  for  separation 
as  temptations  of  the  devil.  It  is  morally  degrading 
for  a  husband  and  wife  to  live  apart  from  each  other. 
It  is  the  rupture  of  a  sacred  tie — the  denial  of  a  sacred 
pledge — the  breaking  up  of  a  relation  into  which  reli- 
gion, affection,  and  habits  of  thought  and  life  have  all 
become  intimately  interwoven,  leaving  both  man  and 
v/oman  loosely  floating  among  new  influences,  and  freed 
from  the  restraints  to  which  their  lives  had  become 
conformed. 

Separation  for  the  time  being  destroys  the  comfort 
and  withholds  the  rewards  of  married  life.  It  is  a  long, 
dreary,  monotonous,  or  anxious  episode,  for  which  neither 
fame  nor  money  can  compensate.  It  is  this,  or  worse  ; 
for,  certainly,  nothing  can  compensate  for  the  acquisition 
of  that  indifference  on  either  side  which  proves  that 
separation  is  not  a  calamity.  A  broken  bone,  too  long 
left  without  setting,  can  never  again  make  a  firm  junc- 
tion. Separation  which  shows  that  a  pair  cannot  live 
apart  is  well  ;  separation  which  proves  that  they  can,  is 
one  of  the  worst  things  that  can  happen.  Therefore  I 
say  to  every  man,  that  the  circumstances  should  be  most 
extraordinary  which  will  leave  him  at  liberty  to  break  up 
his  home,  or  justify  him  in  separating  from  his  wife. 
If  you  cannot  take  the  wife  of  your   bosom  with  you, 


1 86  Titcomb^ s  Letters. 

you  are  to  believe,  generally,  that  your  plans  have  not 
the  favor  of  Providence. 

It  is  the  habit  of  some  husbands  and  wives  to  have 
intimate  friends  whom  they  cherish  and  correspond  with, 
independently.  I  have  known  very  good  husbands  to 
carry  on  limited  flirtations  with  girls,  to  be  the  reposi- 
tories of  secrets  belonging  to  such,  and  to  act  as  their 
very  agreeable  next  friends.  Very  pleasant  connections 
are  these,  to  a  young  husband,  who  has  time  to  attend 
to  them,  but  very  dangerous  in  the  long  run.  Similar 
connexions  on  the  other  side  of  the  house  have  made  a 
great  deal  of  difficulty  since  the  world  began.  They 
are  very  harmless  things  at  first ;  but  there  is  nothing 
but  danger  in  the  intimacy  of  a  married  heart  with  an 
unmarried  one,  unless  there  be  other  relationships  which 
justify  it.  A  man  or  a  woman  who,  from  the  most  in- 
nocent motives  originally,  plays  with  such  an  intimacy 
as  this,  is  toying  with  a  very  dangerous  instrument.  It 
leads  to  the  establishment  of  secrets  between  husband 
and  wife — itself  a  bad  thing — and  too  frequently  leads 
to  their  estrangement,  more  or  less  pronounced.  You 
should  never  write  a  letter,  or  give  occasion  for  the  re- 
ceipt of  one,  which  you  are  unwilling  to  show  to  your 
companion.  Under  none  but  extraordinary  circum'" 
stances  should  you  consent  to  receive  a  secret  from  a 
friend  which  he  or  she  may  be  unwilHng  your  companion 
should  know. 

If  you  have  friends,  they  should  be  the  friends  of  your 


Separation — Family  Relatives — Servants.  187 

companion  ;  and  this  should  be  carried  outside  of  the 
circle  of  your  intimacies.  You  have  no  business  with  a 
friend  who  refuses  to  be  your  companion's  friend  ;  and 
again  you  have  no  business  with  a  friend  whom,  for  a 
valid  reason,  your  companion  refuses  to  know.  You  may 
have  come  together  from  different  classes  of  society. 
The  wife  or  the  husband  may  be  proscribed  by  a  class, 
while  her  or  his  companion  may  be  a  favorite  of  the 
same  class.  A  husband  or  a  wife,  who  is  willing  to  ig- 
nore this  proscription  and  distinction,  demonstrates  a 
lack  of  spirit  and  self-respect  that  is  utterly  contempti- 
ble. A  husband  or  a  wife  acting  thus  dishonors  his  or 
her  own  flesh  and  blood.  You  go  together ;  you  are  to 
be  received  together  or  not  at  all  ;  and  an  insult  to  one 
is  an  insult  to  both,  always,  and  under  all  circumstances. 
And  now  that  I  have  spoken  of  your  mutual  relations 
to  intimates  and  friends,  it  is  proper  that  I  speak  of 
your  relations  to  your  respective  blood  connections. 
Very  fruitful  causes  of  disturbance  between  husbands 
and  wives  are  the  relatives  of  the  married  pair.  Not  un- 
frequently  the  parents  of  the  husband  are  brought  into 
his  family,  and  not  unfrequently  those  of  the  wife. 
Doubtless  there  are  instances  in  which  it  is  impossible 
to  get  along  without  difficulty  with  these,  but  if  you 
have  fully  apprehended  my  course  of  reasoning  with 
you,  and  admitted  its  validity,  there  is  but  one  course 
for  you  to  pursue.  You  are  one.  The  husband's 
parents  are  the  wife's  parents,  and  the  wife's  parents  are 


1 88  Tit  CO  nib's  Letters. 

the  parents  of  the  husband.  You  are  to  receive  and 
treat  them  as  your  own — not  with  constraint  and  as  a 
matter  of  duty,  but  willingly  and  affectionately.  You 
are  to  learn  to  love  and  respect  them, — to  bear  with 
their  frailties,  to  comfort  them  in  their  passage  to  the 
tomb,  to  treat  them  in  no  sense  as  dependents,  and  to 
make  them  feel  that  they  are  not  only  welcome  to  your 
kindly  offices,  but  that  they  have  a  right  to  the  home 
which  they  have  with  you.  You  are  young,  and  they 
are  old.  It  is  for  the  honor  of  your  companion  that  his 
or  her  parents  have  support  at  his  or  her  hands,  and 
what  is  your  companion's  honor  is  yours.  Besides,  this 
world  is  a  world  of  compensations,  more  nicely  adapted 
and  more  certain  than  you  know.  The  time  will  pass 
away,  and  the  children  now  on  your  knee  will  have 
grown  to  manhood  and  womanhood,  and  will  have 
chosen  their  companions,  as  their  fathers  and  mothers 
chose  theirs  before  them.  The  home  which  you  now 
enjoy  may  be  broken  up.  Your  companion  will  be 
taken  from  you,  and  your  only  resort  may  be  the  home 
of  your  child.  The  treatment  which  you  would  wish 
to  receive  from  your  son's  wife,  or  your  daughter's  hus- 
band, is  precisely  the  treatment  which  you  nov/  owe  to 
those  who  hold  to  you  the  relation  which  )'OU  will  then 
sustain  to  them. 

The  same  rules  which  govern  you  in  regard  to  the 
parents  should  extend  to  the  circle  of  your  other  rela- 
tives.    Of  course,  your  ability  to  maintain  dependents 


Separation — Family  Relatives — Servants.  189 

is  a  consideration  ;  but  I  regard  personal  and  family 
honor  as  most  inseparably  involved  in  this  thing.  A 
son  or  a  daughter  who,  with  the  power  of  maintaining 
without  impossible  self-sacrifice  a  father  and  mother, 
allows  them  to  finish  their  life  in  an  alms-house,  or  to 
live  on  the  charity  of  those  upon  whom  they  have  no 
special  claims,  is  a  brute.  There  are  a  few  such  mis- 
erable creatures  in  the  world,  who  ought  to  be  hooted  at 
and  cut  by  all  decent  people.  In  a  measure  the  same 
thing  is  true  of  all  family  relatives.  It  is  a  matter  of 
personal  and  family  pride,  as  I  have  said.  It  is  some- 
thing more  than  this  The  poor  we  have  always  with 
us,  and  we  owe  a  duty  to  them,  unless  we  ourselves  are 
equally  poor  ;  but  when  a  man  has  poor  relatives  who 
must  be  dependent,  more  or  less,  upon  some  one,  it  is 
as  if  God's  finger  had  kindly  pointed  out  to  him  the  very 
objects  upon  which  his  benefactions  should  be  bestowed. 
I  am  aware  that  this  is  rather  serious  doctrine  for 
some  minds.  I  am  aware  that  relatives  are  often  proud 
as  well  as  poor  ;  that  they  will  be  dependent  rather  than 
labor  ;  that  they  become  insufferable  drones  and  bores, 
and  haunt  your  homes  with  a  most  offensive  and  vexa- 
tious presence.  There  ought  to  be  some  short  method 
of  treating  such,  but  I  do  not  possess  it.  If  you  cannot 
make  them  useful,  there  are  several  ways  of  making 
them  uncomfortable  which  may  be  safely  left  to  the  in- 
vention and  discretion  of  the  suffering  parties.  My  plea 
is  for  a  thorough   identification   of  family  feeling  and 


190  Tit  comb's  Letters. 

family  pride  between  husband  and  wife.  If  it  entail  dis* 
agreeable  and  unjust  burdens,  through  the  laziness  01 
extravagance  of  dependent  relatives,  it  is  a  misfortune  ; 
but  misfortunes  are  incident  to  all  relations.  Bettel 
bear  them  than  leave  your  motives  open  to  suspicion, 
or  bring  disgrace  upon  your  family  name. 

I  cannot  close  this  letter  better  than  by  saying  a  word 
or  two  upon  the  subject  of  servants.  The  general  pro- 
position that  the  quality  of  the  servant  is  dependent 
upon  the  quality  of  the  mistress  is  a  sound  one.  If  a 
woman  who  frets  at  and  scolds  her  servants  ever  has  a 
good  servant,  it  is  in  spite  of  the  treatment  she  receives. 
In  order  to  be  a  good  mistress,  it  is  necessary  to  believe 
in  a  few  fundamental  truths,  which  may  be  briefly 
stated  as  follows  :  First ^  servants  are  human  beings, 
and  consequently  have  souls  ;  second,  servants,  having 
souls,  are  consequently  controlled  by  the  motives  which 
address  themselves  to  a  common  humanity  ;  third,  being 
human,  servants  have  rights  which  no  amount  of  service 
money  can  buy  ;  and  fourth,  transcendent  intellectual 
endowments,  a  physical  development  of  fifty-horse 
power,  the  broad  circle  of  the  Christian  graces  and  vir- 
tues, a  faultless  disposition,  a  knowledge  of  French 
cookery,  and  elegant  habits,  cannot  be  obtained  for  nine 
Yankee  shillings  a  week.  A  mistress  admitting  gener- 
ally the  truth  of  these  propositions  possesses  a  basis  for 
securing  service  that  shall  be  reasonably  satisfactory  to 
her. 


Separation — Family  Relatives — Servants.  191 

There  is  quite  too  much  of  the  feeling  among  miS' 
tresses  that  they  have  a  right  to  use  servants  as  a  fast 
boy  uses  a  hired  horse.  They  are  to  get  the  most  out 
of  them  that  they  can  for  the  money  they  pay.  They 
take  no  personal  interest  in  them, — extend  to  them  no 
matronly  care  and  kindness.  They  forget  that  a  servant 
is  a  social  being.  They  forget  that  she  has  humble 
loves  and  hopes,  has  desires  for  freedom  and  recreation 
as  important  to  her  as  the  higher  love  and  hopes  and 
desires  of  the  more  favored  girls  who  occupy  the  parlor. 
They  forget  that  the  labors  of  the  kitchen  are  tedious ; 
that  the  confinement  of  the  kitchen  is  irksome.  They 
become  exacting, — strict  in  rules,  rigid  in  discipline,  and 
peremptory  in  their  commands.  It  is  not  in  human  na- 
ture to  stand  this  kind  of  thing,  so  the  servant  gets  har- 
dened at  last,  or  wilfully  careless.  She  receives  nc 
praise,  any  way,  and  therefore  tries  to  get  none.  A 
serv^ant,  generally  speaking,  whose  feelings  as  a  humble 
woman  are  appreciated  by  her  mistress,  who  is  praised 
for  what  she  does  that  is  well,  and  kindly  and  patiently 
instructed  to  correct  that  which  is  not  well ;  who  is 
treated  to  sympathetic  and  considerate  words,  and  in- 
dulged in  that  liberty  which  is  absolutely  essential  to 
her  bodily  and  mental  health,  will  love  her  mistress, 
and  have  a  desire  to  please.  This,  in  all  good  and  toler- 
ably sensible  natures,  will  settle  the  matter.  A  girl 
exercised  by  this  love  and  this  desire  will  be  a  good 
servant    ninety-nine  times  in  a   hundred.     It   is  undei 


192  Tit  comb's  Letters. 

relations  like   these  that  attachments   arc  formed  which 
are  as  tender  as  humanity  and  as  lasting  as  life. 

There  is  a  broad  view  in  which  this  and  all  kindred 
matters  arc  to  be  regarded.  The  mistress  is  quite  as 
dependent  upon  the  servant  as  the  servant  upon  the 
mistress.  She  renders  an  equivalent  for  what  you  give 
her,  and  her  service  is  as  essential  to  you  as  your  money 
is  to  her.  You  cannot  get  along  without  her,  nor  can 
she  get  along  without  you.  Your  position,  to  be  sure, 
is  superior  to  hers,  but  she  owes  you  nothing,  save  faith- 
ful service  and  respect.  The  obligations  are  not  all 
upon  one  side.  It  is  just  as  much  your  duty  to  be  a 
kind  mistress  and  friend  to  her,  as  it  is  her  duty  to  give 
faithful  service  and  respectful  treatment  to  you.  If, 
therefore,  you  fail  in  your  duty,  you  must  not  blame 
her  for  failing  in  hers.  I  have  never  yet  seen  a  good 
servant  who  had  not  either  a  good  mistress,  or  one  who 
was  actually  inferior  to  herself.  Human  nature  is  very 
prevalent  among  women,  and  especially  among  maids 
of  all -work. 


LETTER   VI. 

THE  INSTITUTION  OF  HOME. 

Home  of  our  childhood  !     How  aflection  clings, 
And  hovers  round  thee  with  her  seraph  wings  ! 

— O.  W.  Holmes. 

For  there  are  two  heavens,  sweet, 
Both  made  of  love — one  inconceivable 
Even  by  the  other,  so  divine  it  is  ; 
The  other  far  on  this  side  of  the  stars 
By  men  called  Home,  when  some  blest  pair  have  met. 
As  we  are  now. 

— Leigh  Hunt, 

THE  French  have  no  word  into  which  the  English 
word  home  may  be  legitimately  translated  ;  yet 
it  is  sufficiently  evident  that  many  of  the  French  people 
have  the  thing  without  the  name,  while  a  large  portion 
of  the  American  people  have  the  name  without  the 
thing.  There  are  comparatively  few  who  have  an  ade- 
quate idea  of  what  home  is,  as  an  institution.  It  is 
recognised  as  a  house,  containing  a  convenient  number 
of  chairs  and  tables,  with  a  sufficiency  of  chamber  fur- 
niture and  eatables,  a  place  to  eat  and  sleep  in,  simply, 
9 


194  Tit  comb' s  Letters. 

It  is  not  unjust  to  say  that  half  of  the  young  married 
people  of  America  have  no  higher  conception  of  home 
than  this.  What  they  call  their  homes  are  simply 
boarding  houses,  where,  for  purposes  of  economy  and 
convenience,  they  board  themselves. 
'  In  my  idea,  home  rises  to  the  dignity  of  an  institution 
of  life,  and,  like  everything  legitimately  to  be  called  an 
institution  of  life,  is  both  an  outgrowth  of  life,  and  a 
contributor  to  its  development.  Like  all  institutions,  it 
has  its  external  form  and  internal  power  and  signifi- 
cance. Like  the  church,  it  has  its  edifice  and  appoint- 
ments not  only,  but  its  membership,  its  bonds  of  spirit- 
ual fellowship,  and  its  germinal  ideas,  developing  them- 
selves into  influences  that  bear  flowers  and  fruits  to 
charm  and  feed  the  soul.  It  is  into  the  meaning  of  the 
word  Home  that  I  would  introduce  you  first,  my  friends, 
and  then  into  the  home  itself.  Marriage  is  the  legiti- 
mate basis  of  a  genuine  home,  A  husband  is  its  priest 
and  a  wife  its  priestess  ;  and  it  is  for  you,  young  hus- 
band and  young  wife,  to  establish  this  institution,  main- 
tain it,  beautify  it  in  its  outward  form,  fill  it  with  all 
good  influences,  develop  its  capacities,  make  it  the  ex- 
pression of  your  best  ideas  of  intimate  social  life,  and  to 
use  it  as  an  instrument  of  genial  power  in  moulding 
such  outside  life  as  may  come  into  contact  with  it.  Its 
outward  form  and  its  internal  arrangements  should,  so 
far  as  your  means  will  permit,  be  the  outgrowth  of  your 
finest  ideas  and  the  expression  of  your  best  tastes,  com- 


TJie  Institution  of  Home.  195 

bined  with  the  practical  ingenuities  which  may  be  ren- 
dered necessary  by  a  wholesome  economy. 

It  is  not  the  elm  before  the  door  of  home  that  the 
sailor  pines  for  when  tossing  on  the  distant  sea.  It  is 
not  the  house  that  sheltered  his  childhood,  the  well 
that  gave  him  drink,  nor  the  humble  bed  where  he  used 
to  lie  and  dream.  These  may  be  the  objects  that  come 
to  his  vision  as  he  pacts  the  lonely  deck,  but  the  heart 
within  him  longs  for  the  sweet  influences  that  came 
through  all  these  things,  or  were  associated  with  them ; 
for  the  heart  clings  to  the  institution  which  developed 
it — to  that  beautiful  tree  of  which  it  is  the  fruit. 
Wherever,  therefore,  the  heart  wanders,  it  carries  the 
thought  of  home  with  it.  Wherever,  by  the  rivers  of 
Babylon,  the  heart  feels  its  loss  and  loneliness,  it  hangs 
its  harp  upon  the  willows  and  weeps.  It  prefers  home 
to  its  chief  joy.  It  will  never  forget  it.  For  there 
swelled  its  first  throb.  There  were  developed  its  first 
affections.  There  a  mother's  eyes  looked  into  it  ;  there 
a  mother's  voice  spoke  to  it ;  there  a  mother's  prayers 
blessed  it.  There  the  love  of  parents  and  brothers  and 
sisters  gave  it  precious  entertainment.  There  bubbled 
up  from  unseen  fountains  life's  first  effervescing  hopes. 
There  life  took  form,  and  color,  and  consistence.  From 
that  centre  went  out  all  its  young  ambitions.  Towards 
that  focus  return  its  concentering  memories.  There  it 
took  form,  and  fitted  itself  to  loving  natures  and  pleas- 
ant   natural    scenes ;    and    it    will    carrv    that    impress 


196  Tit  comb' s  Letters. 

wherever  it  may  go,  unless  it  become  perverted  by  sin 
or  make  to  itself  another  home,  sanctified  by  a  new  and 
more  precious  afifection. 

It  is  in  the  little  communities  which  we  call  Ameri- 
can homes  that  the  hope  of  America  rests.  It  is  here 
that  subordination  to  wholesome  restraint  and  respect 
for  law  are  inculcated.  It  is  here,  if  anywhere,  that 
the  affections  receive  their  culture,  that  amiable  dispo- 
sitions are  developed,  that  the  amenities  of  life  are 
learned,  that  the  mind  and  the  body  are  established  in 
healthful  habits,  that  mutual  respect  for  mutual  rights  is 
engendered,  and  here  that  all  those  faculties  and  quali- 
ties are  nurtured  which  enter  into  the  structure  of  wor- 
thy character.  In  the  homes  of  America  are  born  the 
children  of  America,  and  from  them  go  out  into  Amer- 
ican life  American  men  and  women.  They  go  out  with 
the  stamp  of  these  homes  upon  them,  and  only  as  these 
homes  are  what  they  should  be,  will  they  be  what  they 
should  be.  It  is  with  this  in  view  that  I  offer  a  few  sug- 
gestions touching  the  establishment  of  this  institution 
by  you. 

Just  as  soon  as  it  is  possible  for  you  to  do  so,  buy  a 
house,  the  ground  it  stands  on,  and  as  much  land 
around  it  as  your  business,  convenience,  or  taste  may 
require.  A  home  can  never  be  all  that  it  should  be  to 
you  and  yours,  unless  you  OAvn  it.  This  is  doubtless 
impossible  to  a  great  multitude  who  will  read  this  let' 
ter,  but  let  not  such  be  discouraged.     A  beautiful  home 


The  Institution  of  Home.  197 

life  may  be  developed,  even  by  a  tenant  at  will  ;  though 
the  security  and  fixedness  of  proprietorship  are  greatly 
tributary  to  home's  permanent  influences.  If  the  home 
is  owned,  see  that  its  exterior  represents  you  faithfully. 
What  you  cannot  afford  in  architecture,  you  can  sup- 
ply in  vines  and  flowers.  The  interior  should  receive 
the  impress  of  all  the  order,  neatness,  taste,  and  inge- 
nuity that  are  in  you.  Your  home  is  the  temple  of  your 
sweetest  human  love.  It  is  in  this  temple  that  young 
immortals  are  born.  It  is  here  that  characters  are 
shaped  into  manhood  and  womanhood — the  highest 
earthly  estate.  It  is  here  that  you  are  to  work  out  the 
problem  of  your  lives.  It  is  a  place  of  dignity.  There- 
fore give  it  honor  ;  make  it  beautiful  ;  make  it  worthy  ! 

All  this,  however,  only  relates  to  the  location — the 
shell  of  your  home.  The  ordering  of  its  internal  life  is 
of  still  greater  importance.  The  greatest  danger  of 
home  life  springs  from  its  familiarity.  Kindred  hearts, 
gathered  at  a  common  fireside,  are  far  too  apt  to  relax 
from  the  proprieties  of  social  life.  Careless  language 
and  careless  attire  are  too  apt  to  be  indulged  in  when 
the  eye  of  the  world  is  shut  off,  and  the  ear  of  the 
world  cannot  hear.  I  counsel  no  stiffness  of  family  eti- 
quette— no  sternness  of  family  discipline — like  that 
which  prevailed  in  the  olden  time.  The  day  is  past  for 
that,  but  the  day  for  thorough  respectfulness  among  the 
members  of  a  home — the  day  for  careful  propriety  of 
dress  and  address — will  never  pass.     For  it  is  here  thaf 


198  Titcoifib's  Letters.     - 

the  truest  and  most  faultless  social  life  is  to  be  lived ', 
it  is  here  that  such  a  life  is  to  be  learned.  A  home  in 
which  politeness  reigns  is  a  home  from  which  polite 
men  and  women  go  out  ;  and  they  go  out  directly  from 
no  other. 

The  ordering  of  a  home  life  is  so  intimately  connected 
with  the  treatment  of  children,  that  this  subject  should 
be  treated  definitely.  First,  every  child  born  to  you 
should  learn  among  the  first  things  it  is  capable  of  learn- 
ing, that  in  your  home  your  will  is  supreme.  The 
earlier  a  child  learns  this,  the  better  ;  and  he  should 
learn,  at  the  same  time,  from  all  your  words  and  all 
your  conduct,  that  such  authority  is  the  companion  of 
the  tenderest  love  and  the  most  genial  kindness.  Play 
with  your  children  as  much  as  you  please  ;  make  your- 
selves their  companions  and  sympathizers  and  confi- 
dants ;  but  keep  all  the  time  the  reins  of  your  authority 
steadily  drawn,  and  never  allow  yourselves  to  be  trifled 
with.  It  is  only  in  this  way  that  you  can  keep  the  man- 
agement of  your  home  in  your  own  hands,  and  retain 
the  affectionate  respect  of  those  whom  you  love  as  you 
do  yourselves. 

Again,  make  your  home  a  happy  place — a  pleasant 
place.  Much  can  be  done  towards  this  end  by  beautify- 
ing it  in  the  manner  I  have  already  pointed  out.  Much 
more  can  be  done  by  providing  food  and  amusement  for 
the  minds  of  your  children.  These  minds  you  will  find 
to  be  active,  restless,  and  greedy  for  new  impressions. 


The  Institution  of  Home.  199 

This  restlessness  is  a  heaven-implanted  impulse.  You 
have  neither  the  power  nor  the  right  to  repress  it  ;  but  it 
is  your  duty  to  give  it  direction,  so  far  as  possible,  and 
to  guide  it  to  legitimate  ends.  You  will  find  one  of  three 
things  to  be  true  of  your  children.  They  will  be  happy 
at  home,  or  discontented  at  home,  or  they  will  seek  for 
happiness  away  from  home.  In  the  ignorance  of  the 
nature  of  childhood  on  the  part  of  parents  has  origin- 
ated the  ruin  of  millions  of  men  and  women.  Bursting 
from  an  unnatural  and  irrational  restraint,  they  have 
rushed  from  the  release  of  parental  authority  to  perdi- 
tion ;  or,  allowed  to  seek  for  happiness  away  from  home 
and  away  from  restraint,  they  have  contracted  habits 
which  curse  them  and  their  parents  while  they  live.  So 
I  tell  you  that  the  only  way  for  you  to  save  your  chil- 
dren is  to  make  a  home  so  pleasant  to  them— to  pro- 
vide such  grateful  changes  for  their  uneasy  natures — as 
shall  make  their  hom2  the  most  delightful  spot  on  earth, 
a  spot  to  be  loved  while  they  live  in  it,  and  a  spot  to 
be  recalled  with  grateful  memories  when  they  leave  it. 
Profoundly  to  be  commiserated  is  that  child  who  looks 
back  upon  his  home  as  upon  a  prison-house  ;  upon  his 
youth  as  a  season  of  hardship  ;  upon  his  parents  as 
tyrants.  If  such  a  child  ever  become  a  good  and  genial 
man  or  woman,  it  will  be  in  spite  of  a  bad  home. 

I  am  well  aware  that  the  homes  of  America  will  not 
become  what  they  should  be  until  a  true  idea  of  life 
shall  become  more  widely  implanted.     The  worship  o^ 


200  Titcomb' s  Letters. 

the  dollar  does  more  to  degrade  American  homes  and 
the  life  of  those  homes  than  anything — than  all  things 
— else.  Utility  is  the  God  of  almost  universal  worship. 
The  chief  end  of  life  is  to  gather  gold,  and  that  gold  is 
counted  lost  which  hangs  a  picture  upon  the  wall,  which 
purchases  flowers  for  the  yard,  which  buys  a  toy  or  a 
book  for  the  eager  hand  of  childhood.  Is  this  the  whole 
of  human  life  ?  Then  it  is  a  mean,  meagre,  and  a  most 
undesirable  thing!  A  child  v/ill  go  forth  from  such  a 
home  as  a  horse  will  go  from  a  stall — glad  to  find  free 
air  and  a  wider  pasture.  The  influence  of  such  a  home 
upon  him  in  after  life  will  be  just  none  at  all,  or  nothing 
good.  Thousands  are  rushing  from  homes  like  these 
every  year.  They  crowd  into  cities.  They  crowd  into 
villages.  They  swarm  into  all  places  where  life  is 
clothed  with  a  higher  significance  ;  and  the  old  shell  of 
home  is  deserted  by  every  bird  as  soon  as  it  can  fly. 
Ancestral  homesteads  and  patrimonial  acres  have  no 
sacredness  ;  and  when  the  father  and  mother  die,  the 
stranger's  money  and  the  stranger's  presence  obliterate 
associations  that  should  be  among  the  most  sacred  of  all 
things. 

I  would  have  you  build  up  for  yourselves  and  for  your 
children  a  home  which  will  never  be  lightly  parted  with 
— a  home  which  shall  be  to  all  whose  lives  have  been 
associated  with  it  the  most  interesting  and  precious  spot 
upon  earth.  I  would  have  that  home  the  abode  of  dig- 
nity, propriety,  beauty,  grace,  love,  genial   fellowships 


TJie  Institution  of  Home,  201 

and  happy  associations.  Out  from  such  a  home  I  would 
have  good  influences  flow  into  neighborhoods  and  com- 
munities. In  such  a  home  I  would  see  noble  ambitions 
taking  root,  and  receiving  all  generous  culture.  And 
there  I  would  see  you,  young  husband  and  young  wife, 
happy.  Do  not  deprive  yourself  of  such  influences  as 
will  come  to  you  through  an  institution  like  this.  No 
money  can  pay  you  for  such  a  cTbprivation.  No  circum- 
stances but  those  of  utter  poverty  can  justify  you  in  de- 
nying these  influences  to  your  children. 

It  is  to  the  institution  of  home,  as  developed  in  its 
best  form  and  power,  under  the  letter  and  spirit  of 
Christianity,  that  I  point  when  the  socialist  approaches 
me  with  his  sophisms,  the  New  Lights  with  their  loose 
theories  of  marriage,  and  the  infidel  with  his  howl  over 
the  basis  of  American  civilization.  It  is  the  history  of 
this  home,  since  Christ  lived,  that  is  one  of  the  strongest 
testimonials  to  his  divine  authority.  In  whatever  land, 
under  whatever  system,  by  whatever  men  and  women, 
the  Christian  home  has  been  set  aside  for  fanciful  inven- 
tions, society  has  degenerated  towards  or  into  beastliness. 
As  I  have  said  before,  the  hope  of  America  is  the  homes 
of  Araerica.  If  you  to  whom  I  write  will  each  for  him- 
self and  herself  make  these  homes  the  noble  institu- 
tions Heaven  designs  they  shall  be,  this  generation 
shall  not  pass  away  before  the  world  shall  look  upon  a 
people  the  like  and  the  equal  of  which  it  has  never 
seen.  A  generation  shall  take  possession  of  the  land 
9* 


202  Titcomb' s  Letters. 

full  of  dignity,  love,  grace,  and  goodness,  glowing  with 
a  patriotism  as  true  as  their  regard  for  home  is  sacred, 
and  showing  that  the  strength  of  the  nation  is  forged 
under  the  smoke  that  rises  from  its  happy  household 

fires. 


LETTER   VII. 

SOCIAL  HOMES,  AXD  BLESSINGS  FOR  DAILY  USE. 

How  sweet,  how  passing  sweet,  is  Solitude  ! 
But  grant  me  still  a  friend  in  my  retreat 
Whom  I  may  whisper,  Solitude  is  sweet ! 

—  Cow  PER. 

The  good  he  scorned, 

Stalked  off  reluctant,  like  an  ill  used  ghost. 

Not  to  return. 

— Robert   Blair. 

1HAVE  talked  to  you  of  your  duties  to  each  other,  to 
your  relatives,  and  to  your  servants.  It  remains  to 
me  to  speak  of  your  duties  to  society,  as  heads  of  fami- 
lies and  rulers  of  homes. 

I  have  insisted  on  the  thorough  identification  of  hus- 
band and  wife  in  feeling,  pride  of  character  and  family, 
pursuit,  and  interest ;  yet  I  am  aware  that  this  identifica- 
tion may  be  perverted  into  a  most  senseless  and  selfish 
devotion  to  one  another,  and  an  exclusiveness  of  com- 
munication, which  are  destructive  of  social  life.  I  am 
acquainted    with    too   many   husbands    and  wives  who, 


204  Titcomb's  Letters. 

though  all  the  world  to  each  other,  are  nothing  to  the 
world.  Their  whole  life  is  within  their  home.  They 
gather  comforts  about  them,  they  bear  dainties  to  each 
other's  lips  ;  they  live  and  move  and  have  their  whole 
being  in  each  other's  love  ;  and,  shutting  out  all  the 
world,  live  only  for  themselves.  I  say  I  know  too  many 
such  pairs  as  these.  They  are  far  too  plenty.  They 
cannot  bear  to  be  torn  from  their  homes  even  for  An 
afternoon.  They  take  no  interest  in  others.  They  never 
call  friends  and  neighbors  around  their  board,  and  they 
consider  it  a  hardship  to  fulfil  the  common  offices  of 
social  politeness — to  say  nothing  of  hospitality.  It  is 
not  unjust  to  say  that  this  is  one  of  the  most  dangerous 
and  most  repulsive  forms  of  married  life.  It  is  selfish- 
ness doubled,  associated,  instituted ;  and  it  deserves 
serious  treatment. 

Homes,  like  individuals,  have  their  relations  to  each 
other  ;  and,  as  no  man  liveth  to  himself  alone,  no  home 
should  live  to  itself  alone.  It  is  through  the  medium 
of  homes  that  the  social  life-blood  of  America  is  kept 
ill  circulation — through  this  medium  almost  exclusively. 
Every  home  should  be  as  a  city  set  upon  a  hill,  that 
cannot  be  hid.  Into  it  should  floc'c  friends  and  friend- 
ships, bringing  the  life  of  the  woild,  the  stimulus  and 
the  modifying  power  of  contact  with  various  natures, 
the  fresh  flowers  of  feeling  gathered  from  wide  fields. 
Out  of  it  should  flow  benign  charities,  pleasant  ameni- 
ties,   and    all    those    influences    which    are    the    natural 


Social  Homes.  205 

offspring  of  a  high  and  harmonious  home  life.  Inter- 
communication of  minds  and  homes  is  the  condition  of 
individual  and  social  development,  and  failing  of  this 
no  married  pair  can  be  what  they  should  be  to  each 
other.  Exclusive  devotion  to  business  by  day,  and 
exclusive  devotion  to  selfish  home  enjoyments  at  night, 
will  dry  up,  harden,  and  depreciate  the  richest  natures 
in  the  course  of  a  few  years  ;  and,  so  soon  as  the  man 
withdraws  from  the  business  of  the  world,  the  world 
has  seen  the  last  of  him  and  his  family  for  life.  They 
have  no  outside  associations.  It  is  as  if  they  did  not 
live  at  all.  When  they  die,  nobody  misses  them,  for 
they  have  been  nothing  to  society.  As  many  doors 
are  open  as  before,  and  social  life  feels  no  ripple  upon 
its  surface  when  the  sand  is  thrown  upon  their  coffins. 

There  should  glow  in  every  house,  throughout  the 
land,  the  light  of  a  pleasant  welcome  for  friends.  On 
every  hearth  should  leap  the  flame  that  irradiates  the 
forms  and  faces  of  associates.  Neighborhood  should 
mean  something  more  than  a  collection  of  dark  and 
selfishly-closed  hearts  and  houses.  A  community  should 
be  something  better  than  an  aggregation  of  individuals 
and  homes  governed  by  the  same  laws,  and  sustaining 
equal  civil  burdens.  Neighborhood  should  be  the  name 
of  a  vital  relationship.  A  community  should  be  a  com- 
munity in  fact — informed  with  a  genial,  social  life,  in 
which  the  influence  of  each  nature,  the  power  of  each 
intellect,  the  wealth  of  every  individual  acquisition,  the 


2o6  Tit  comb's  Letters. 

force  of  every  well-directed  will,  and  the  inspiration  of 
every  high  and  pure  character,  should  be  felt  by  all,  A 
neighborhood  of  homes  like  this,  would  be  a  neighbor- 
hood indeed ;  and  none  other  deserves  the  name. 

The  fact  is,  that  selfishness  is  the  bane  of  all  life.     It 
t 
cannot  enter  into  life — individual,   family,    or   social — • 

without  cursing  it.  Therefore,  if  any  married  pair  find 
themselves  inclined  to  confine  themselves  to  one  ano- 
ther's society,  indisposed  to  go  abroad  and  mingle  with 
the  life  around  them,  disturbed  and  irritated  by  the  col- 
lection of  friends  in  their  own  dwelling,  or  in  any  way 
moved  to  regard  their  social  duties  as  disagreeable,  let 
them  be  alarmed  at  once.  It  is  a  bad  symptom — an 
essentially  morbid  symptom.  They  should  institute 
means  at  once  for  removing  this  feeling ;  and  they  can 
only  remove  it  by  persistently  going  into  society,  persist- 
ently gathering  it  into  their  own  dwelling,  and  persist- 
ently endeavoring  to  learn  to  love,  and  feel  an  interest 
in  all  with  whom  they  meet.  The  process  of  regenera- 
tion will  not  be  a  tedious  one,  for  the  rewards  of  social 
life  are  immediate.  The  heart  enlarges  quickly  with 
the  practice  of  hospitality.  The  sympathies  run  and 
take  root,  from  point  to  point,  each  root  throwing  up 
leaves  and  bearing  flowers  and  fruit  like  strawberry 
vines,  if  they  are  only  allowed  to  do  so.  It  is  only 
sympathies  and  strawberries  that  are  cultivated  in  sep- 
arate  hills,  which  do  otherwise.  The  human  face  is  a 
thing  which  should  be  able  to  brine;  the  heart  into  bios- 


Social  Homes.  207 

som  with  a  moment's  shining,  and  it  will  be  such  with 
you,  if  you  will  meet  it  properly. 

The  penalties  of  family  isolation  will  not,  unhappily, 
fall  entirely  upon  yourselves.  They  will  be  visited  with 
double  force  upon  your  children.  Children,  reared  in  a 
home  with  few  or  no  associations,  will  grow  up  either 
boorish  or  sensiti\'ely  timid.  It  is  a  cruel  wrong  to  chil- 
dren to  rear  them  without  bringing  them  into  continued 
contact  with  polite  social  life.  The  ordeal  through 
which  children  thus  reared  are  obliged  to  pass,  in  gain- 
ing the  ease  and  assurance  which  will  make  them  at 
home  elsewhere  than  under  the  paternal  roof,  is  one  of 
the  severest,  while  those  who  are  constantly  accustomed 
to  a  social  life  from  their  youth,  are  educated  in  all  its 
forms  and  graces  without  knowing  it. 

Great  multitudes  of  men  and  women,  all  over  the 
country,  are  now  living  secluded  from  social  contact, 
simply  from  their  sensitive  consciousness  of  ignorance 
of  the  forms  of  graceful  intercourse.  They  feel  that 
they  cannot  break  through  their  reserve.  There  is, 
doubtless,  much  that  is  morbid  in  this  feeling,  and  yet 
it  is  mainly  natural.  From  all  this  mortification  and 
this  deprivation,  every  soul  might  have  been  saved  by 
education  in  a  home  where  social  life  was  properly  lived. 
It  is  cruel  to  deny  to  children  the  opportunity,  not  only 
to  become  accustomed  from  their  first  consciousness 
to  the  forms  of  society,  but  to  enjoy  its  influence  upon 
their  developing  life.     Society  is  food  to  children.     Con- 


2o8  TitconiFs  Letters, 

tact  with  other  minds  is  the  means  by  which  they  are 
educated ;  and  the  difference  in  famihes  of  children  will 
show  at  once  to  the  accustomed  eye,  the  different  social 
character  of  their  parents.  But  I  have  no  space  to  fol- 
low this  subject  further;  and  I  leave  it  with  you,  with 
the  earnest  wish  that  you  will  consider  it,  and  profit  by 
the  suggestions  I  have  given  you. 

I  must  talk  to  you  in  this  letter  (for  I  have  but  one 
more  to  write)  in  regard  to  your  way  of  living,  and  your 
main  objects  of  life.  Are  you  stretching  every  nerve 
and  straining  every  muscle  to  get  gold  ?  Have  you  as- 
sociated respectability  with  wealth  ?  Are  you  denying 
to  yourself  a  free  and  generous  life  now  in  your  youth, 
in  order  to  enjoy  such  a  life  when  youth  shall  have 
passed  away  ?  Are  you  scrimping  yourselves  and  your 
families  by  mean  economies  which  grudge  every  six- 
pence that  escapes  you,  and  make  of  your  life  a  hard 
and  homely  thing?  I  know  of  many  young  married 
people  who  are  living  a  life  like  this,  and  I  pity  them 
more  than  I  blame  them,  because  they  are  victims  of 
false  ideas,  very  probably  inculcated  by  thrifty  parents 
or  by  most  thriftless  philosophers.  If  you  are  an  un- 
social pair,  the  probabilities  are  that  you  are  engaged  in 
precisely  this  business. 

Now  I  wish  to  tell  you  of  something  very  much  better 
than  this.  I  am  not  going  to  advise  you  to  adopt  a 
luxurious  style  of  living.  I  am  not  going  to  tell  you  to 
spend  all  you  get,  and  to  run  in  debt  for  that  which  you 


Social  Homes.  209 

are  unable  to  pay  for.  But  I  say  that  for  every  capable 
and  healthy  man,  and  every  clever  and  sensible  woman, 
both  of  whom  are  industrious,  there  is  enough  to  be  won 
in  the  work  of  life  to  afford  a  generous  living  and  leave 
a  sufficient  margin  for  independent  competence.  The 
years  of  your  life  will  be  few,  at  the  most  ;  and  for  you 
to  throw  away  the  enjoyment  of  their  passing  days  for  a 
good  which  may  never  come,  to  be  enjoyed  in  a  life 
that  is  uncertain,  is  to  throw  away  for  ever  the  blessings 
which  God  intends  for  your  present  food.  God's  bless- 
ings are  not  cumulative.  The  manna  that  fell  in  the 
wilderness  came  every  day,  and  spoiled  with  the  keep- 
ing. You  may  lay  up  wealth  for  age,  but  age,  with  its 
teeth  gone,  its  sensibilities  killed,  and  without  employ- 
ment, cannot  enjoy  it.  So,  I  tell  you  to  enjoy  your 
wealth  while  you  are  earning  it.  I  do  not  mean  by  this 
that  you  are  to  lay  up  nothing.  I  do  not  mean  that  you 
shall  be  imprudent,  or  improvident.  I  only  counsel  that 
use  of  your  money,,  from  day  to  day,  which,  will  give  you 
generous  food,  tasteful  dress,  and  pleasant  surro-und- 
ings,  and  which  will  tend  to  make  life  comfortable  and 
beautiful. 

But  some  will  read  this  who  are  in  poverty,  who  do 
not  hope  to  obtain  even  independence.  I  am  not  writ- 
ing to  you,  my  friends,  but  to  your  neighbors,  less 
happy  than  you,  who;  have  taken  it  into  their  heads  to 
get  rich.  Perhaps  tliey  may  be  your  employers.  At 
?ny  rate,  they  are  very  unenviable  people.     I  write  to 


2IO  Tit  comb's  Letters. 

those  who  have  the  power  to  make  money,  and  who  ig 
nore  the  present  blessings  of  their  lot — who  enjoy  no 
present  blessings.  I  write  to  those  who  wait  for  wealth 
to  make  their  first  contributions  to  public  charities,  to 
aid  in  the  support  of  social  and  religious  institutions,  to 
mingle  in  that  neighborhood  life  which  involves  a  genial 
hospitality,  to  fill  their  library  with  books  and  their  halls 
with  pictures,  to  resort  to  the  concert  and  exhibitien 
rooms  for  refining  amusement,  to  give  employment  to 
the  poor,  to  make  their  homes  the  embodiment  of  good 
taste  and  substantial  comfort,  and  to  provide  for  health 
and  pleasant  recreation. 

I  believe  that  twice  as  much  may  be  enjoyed  in  this 
life,  as  is  now  enjoyed,  if  people  would  only  take  and 
use  the  blessings  which  Heaven  confers  on  them  for 
present  use.  We  strive  to  accumulate  beyond  our 
wants,  and  beyond  the  wants  of  our  families.  In  doing 
this,  we  deny  to  ourselves  leisure,  recreation,  culture, 
and  social  relaxation.  When  wealth  has  been  won,  our 
power  to  enjoy  it  is  past,  and  it  goes  into  the  hands  of 
children  whose  industry  and  enterprise  it  kills  and  whose 
best  life  it  spoils.  It  is  not  often  that  great  accumula- 
tions of  wealth  do  anybody  good.  They  usually  spoil 
the  happiness  of  two  generations — one  in  the  getting, 
and  one  in  the  spending. 

I  like  the  man  who  earns  his  money  with  the  special 
design  of  spending  it— the  man  who  regards  money  onlji 
as  a  means  of  procuring  that  which    shall    supply  the 


Social  Homes.  2ii 

passing  wants  of  his  nature — of  his  whole  nature — and 
for  securing  education  to  his  children,  and  comfort  to 
his  old  age.  It  is  to  such  that  men  go  for  subscriptions 
to  worthy  objects.  It  is  by  the  fireside  and  at  the  board 
of  such  that  I  am  happy.  It  is  with  the  free  and  gener- , 
ous  souls  of  such  that  I  delight  to  come  in  contact.  It 
is  for  such  souls  that  life  is  made.  Such  men  as  these 
go  on  from  year  to  year,  building  up  their  homes,  mak- 
ing them  abodes  of  beauty  and  plenty,  and  places  of 
refreshment  for  five  hundred  cordial  hearts.  Wherever 
they  go  hands  of  warm  good  fellows  are  held  out  to  them. 
They  have  the  blessing  of  the  helpless,  and  the  envy  of 
no  man.  Sometimes,  perhaps,  their  wives  are  envied 
by  the  wives  of  other  men,  but  it  is  probably  out  of  the 
power  of  cither  party  to  help  that. 


LETTER   VIII. 

-=<    VISION  OF  LIFE  AND   ITS  MEANING 

Here  manhood  struggles  for  the  sake 

Of  mother,  sister,  daughter,  wife, 

The  graces  and  the  loves  which  make 

The  music  of  the  march  of  life  ; 

And  woman,  in  her  daily  round 

Of  duty,  walks  on  holy  ground  ! 

— WhittieRi 

And  so,  'twixt  joy. 
And  love,  and  tears,  and  whatsoever  pain 
Man  fitly  shares  with  man,  these  two  grow  old  ; 
And,  if  indeed  blest  thoroughly,   they  die 
In  the  same  spot,  and  nigh  the  same  good  hour 
And  setting  suns  look  heavenly  on  their  grave ! 

— Leigh  Hitnt. 

THIS  is  my  twenty-fourth  and  last  letter  to  the 
young.  As  a  preliminary  to  its  composition,  I 
have  re-read  every  previous  letter,  and  the  subject  of 
this  has  been  suggested  by  the  perusal.  I  have  asked 
myself  "what  kind  of  men  and  women  will  these  letters 
make,  if  there  happen  to  be  any  who  adopt  their  coun- 
sels ?  "  The  reply  comes  to  me  in  the  form  of  a  vision 
which  I  will  unfold  to  you. 


A    Vision  of  Life  and  its  Meaning.     213 

I  see  a  young  man  standing  at  the  opening  gates  of 
life,  and  with  earnest  eyes  scanning  the  landscape  that 
stretches  before  him.  Flowers  are  springing  at  his  feet 
among  the  velvet  grass  ;  brooks  are  dragging  their 
fhains  of  silver  over  the  rocks,  and  passing  in  careless 
frolic  towards  the  sea  ;  birds  are  fluttering  like  blossoms 
amid  the  overhanging  foliage,  and  breathing  their  fra- 
grant melody  upon  the  air  ;  breezes  full  of  love  are  fan- 
ning his  cheek,  and  filling  him  with  a  sense  of  intoxica- 
ting pleasure,  and  the  sky  is  bending  over  him  with  no 
break  of  blue  save  where,  in  the  exalted  perspective, 
golden  clouds  sit  like  crowns  upon  golden  mountains. 
His  heart  is  bold,  his  limbs  are  strong,  his  blood  is 
healthful,  and  his  whole  susceptible  and  sensuous  nature 
throbs  with  responses  to  the  appeals  of  the  beauty  and 
music  and  sweetness  around  and  before  him. 

He  takes  a  step,  and  Pleasure  comes  from  her  secret 
bower,  and  invites  him  to  her  banquet  of  delights.  He 
pauses  for  a  moment,  shivers  with  the  stress  of  the 
temptation,  puts  her  resolutely  aside,  and  passes  on. 
Idleness,  lolling  beneath  a  shade,  points  to  a  vacant 
seat  and  closes  her  languid  eyes  ;  but  with  disgust  he 
leaves  her  and  presses  forward.  Ambition  beckons 
from  some  sudden  summit,  but  he  heeds  her  not.  Then 
Duty  comes,  and  standing  before  him — a  firm  and"  ear' 
nest  figure — points  to  a  burden  and  bids  him  take  it  up, 
and  bear  it  as  he  journeys  onward.  He  pauses,  looks 
around,  ahead,  above,  then  lifts  it  to  his  shoulder,  and 


214  Titcomb^s  Letters. 

with  muscles  firmly  strained  presses  forward  with  neN< 
vigor.  Soon  he  becomes  accustomed  to  the  load,  and 
then  Duty  comes  again,  and  bids  him  to  add  to  it  He 
willingly  takes  on  the  new  burden,  and  as  he  does  so, 
finds  his  heart  warming  with  cheerfulness,  and  his  voice 
bursting  into  song.  Revellers,  steeped  with  wine  and 
wild  with  hilarity,  look  up  from  their  vine-covered  table 
at  the  sound  of  the  healthy  lay,  and  laugh  and  scoff,  but 
thejf  do  not  approach  him.  Temptations  that  throng 
the  path  of  the  weak  and  faithless  slink  away  from  him 
Avithout  attack  ;  or,  if  one  scatter  its  charms  upon  him, 
they  slide  off  like  dew  from  bronze. 

So  Duty  becomes  to  him  a  guiding  angel.  Wherever 
she  leads  he  follows.  In  her  steps  he  drops  into  deep 
ravines,  hidden  from  the  light  of  the  sun  ;  he  plunges 
into  streams  whose  billows  affright  and  chill  him,  and 
crosses  them  by  a  might  which  grows  with  every  strug- 
gle ;  he  scales  mountains  that  lie  in  his  path,  piled  with 
huge  discouragements,  and  sees  from  the  summit  of 
achievement,  shimmering  in  the  distance,  the  streams 
of  great  reward,  winding  among  meadows  of  heavenly 
recompense.  At  last  he  comes  to  a  point  in  his  way 
where  he  pauses,  and  looks  around  him.  In  the  pause, 
he  listens  to  the  beating  of  his  own  heart.  It  is  the 
thriir  and  rhythm  of  manhood  which  that  heart  is 
strongly  telling.  He  sees  that  he  has  made  progress 
towards  the  golden  mountains,  with  their  crowns  of 
golden  clouds.     The  noise  of  the  revellers  has  died  upon 


A    Vision  of  Life  and  its  Meaning.     215 

his  ear.  Pleasure  and  Indolence  are  far  back,  and  the 
temptations  of  youth  are  past,  and  he  is,  so  far,  safe. 
He  sees  now  the  burdens  he  has  borne  and  the  struggles 
he  has  put  forth  have  knit  his  muscles,  and  strengthened 
his  will,  and  developed  his  power.  He  sees  how  each 
constituent  of  the  manhood  that  has  now  become  his 
choicest  possession  was  won  by  toil  and  fatigue,  and 
self-denial  and  patience  and  resistance  of  temptation. 
He  sees  that  it  could  have  been  won  in  no  other  way, 
and  gives  honest  thanks  to  the  Providence  which  has 
thus  transmuted  the  evil  of  life  into  good. 

There  we  leave  him  standing,  and  change  the  scene. 
At  another  gate  a  maiden  enters.  The  rose  sits  upon 
her  cheek,  and  the  lily  upon  her  bosom.  Good  angels 
are  hovering  all  about  her  ;  and  seeking  some  secret  re- 
cess, she  kneels  and  dedicates  herself  to  Heaven.  As 
she  comes  into  the  path,  the  Tempter  looks  at  her,  and 
slinks  away  from  her  sweet  and  unsuspicious  eyes,  as  if 
they  were  windows  through  which  he  had  caught  a 
glimpse  of  God.  She  is  conscious  from  the  first  that 
life  has  meaning  in  it,  and  that  the  soul  which  informs 
her  has  a  duty  aud  a  destiny.  She  knows  that  that  soul 
is  to  be  strengthened  and  enriched, — that  it  is  to  be  kept 
pure,  and  beautified  with  all  precious  graces.  Fashion 
and  Frivolity  flaunt  their  gewgaws  before  her  eyes,  but 
she  puts  them  aside.  They  seek  to  divert  her  into  vain 
pursuits,  but  she  has  a  steady  purpose  and  keeps  a  steady 
path.       Flocks   of  seductive   thoughts   hover    about  her 


2i6  Tit  combos  Letters. 

head,  and  tease  her  bewildered  eyes  ;  but  she  repels 
them  until  they  leave  her.  She  gathers  the  flowers  of 
life  that  bloom  by  the  way,  and  places  them  in  her  hair. 
Kind  words  and  smiles  go  out  from  her,  and  come  back 
winged  blessings  to  nestle  on  her  breast.  Little  deeds 
of  charity  and  mercy,  dropped  by  the  way,  change  into 
pearls,  and  seek  her  hand  again.  The  mother  leans  upon 
her  shoulder,  and  the  sister  clings  to  her  arm.  Up 
weary  slopes  she  toils  to  gather  fruits  from  the  tree  of 
knowledge.  Down  into  valleys  of  suffering  she  walks, 
bearing  balsams  for  the  sick.  She  thinks  of  ease  but  to 
scorn  it,  and  finds  in  the  exercise  of  her  faculties  and 
the  play  of  her  sympathies  and  the  development  of  her 
powers  such  healthful  joy  as  only  the  worthy  know. 
And  thus  she  passes  on — a  creature  of  beauty,  a  bearer 
of  purity,  a  being  of  modest  graces  and  noble  aptitudes, 
of  fine  instincts  and  self-denying  heroism,  until  her 
nature  brims — a  golden  goblet — with  the  wine  of  woman- 
hood, and  she  meets  the  companion  for  whom  God 
designed  her — whom  God  designed  for  her. 

Thus  our  third  scene  is  prepared  for  us.  Manhood 
and  womanhood  meet,  and  lives  that  were  separate 
melodies  become  a  harmony.  How  it  may  seem  to 
others  I  know  not,  but  true  love  between  man  and 
woman — the  love  that  gives  its  all  for  life,  for  the  sim- 
ple rewards  of  congenial  companionship,  seems  to  me 
the  most  lovely  outgrowth  of  human  nature.  God  and 
all  good  things  breathe  benisons  upon  it.     It  is  the  ad' 


A    Vision  of  Life  and  its  Meaning,     217 

vent  of  a  heart  into  another  heart, — the  entrance  of  one 
spiritual  nature  into  the  spiritual  nature  of  another, 
giving,  I  doubt  not,  a  foretaste  of  the  exquisite  bhss 
which  thrills  the  soul  as  it  passes  into  the  gate  of  Para- 
dise. And  there  stand  our  young  man  and  young 
woman,  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  and  her  ear  drink- 
ing in  the  tender  confessions  of  an  affection  to  which 
her  happy  heart  responds  in  gentlest  numbers.  '•  What 
God  hath  joined  together  let  no  man  put  asunder," 
falls  from  the  sky  where  the  evening  star  is  glowing. 
They  look  up,  and  a  pledge,  heard  in  heaven  and  on 
earth,  falls  from  their  lips.  Friends  flock  around  them, 
and  kisses  fall  upon  the  young  wife's  cheek  amid  the 
baptism  of  tears.  Golden  fruits  are  borne  to  their  lips, 
and  the  twilight  air  is  full  of  the  pleasant  jargon  of 
happy  human  voices.  Oh  !  brightly  gleam  the  golden 
mountains  in  the  last  rays  of  the  sunken  sun  ;  and  the 
golden  clouds  that  crown  them  blaze  with  more  than  a 
solar  glory ! 

And  now  begins  the  united  life.  Hand  in  hand  and 
heart  to  heart  they  resume  their  passage  up  the  long 
incline.  In  the  early  morning,  I  see  them  kneeling 
side  by  side,  worshipping  the  God  of  their  life,  confess- 
ing their  weakness  and  their  sin,  and  praying  for  that 
spiritual  nourishment  which  shall  build  them  up  into  a 
saintly  estate.  At  evening,  before  they  lie  down  by  the 
wayside  for  repose,  I  sec  them  kneel  again,  and  commune 

with  the  Good  Father  whose  spirit  dwells  within  them. 
10 


2i8  Titcomb' s  Letters. 

M  one  takes  up  a  cross,  it  is  lightened  by  the  other's 
hand.  If  one  gathers  a  joy  from  the  boughs  of  Heaven's 
munificence,  the  other  is  called  to  share  it.  With  no 
heart-wanderings,  no  untruth,  no  repinings,  no  selfish 
monopoly  of  delight,  they  pass  on  for  months  till  now  I 
see  that  th?  wife  has  become  a  mother,  and  bears  a 
little  babe  upon  her  bosom.  It  is  a  gift  of  God,  pre- 
cious beyond  all  price  ;  and  when  they  kneel  again  they 
thank  God  for  it, — for  all  the  joy  it  brings  them,  for 
all  the  care  it  imposes  upon  them,  for  all  the  hallowed 
sympathies  it  calls  into  play,  for  the  new  springs  of 
pleasure  and  life  which  it  uncovers  to  them.  Soon  the 
little  one  is  on  its  feet,  and  dances  along  the  way,  while 
another  takes  its  place  in  the  maternal  arms.  And  as 
the  years  pass  away,  another  and  another  are  added  to 
the  pilgrim  group,  till  they  look  like  a  band  of  attendant 
cherubim. 

Meanwhile,  I  see  that  the  limbs  of  the  pair  are 
growing  weary.  The  way  is  hard  and  rough,  and  both 
are  laden  with  a  burden  of  care,  accumulating  as  they 
go  ;  and  now  they  pass  into  a  cloud.  Dimly  through 
the  vapor  gathering  before  my  own  eyes,  or  enveloping 
them,  I  see  them  bowing  by  the  way.  One  of  the  little 
ones— its  fingers  full  of  life's  roses — lies  stretched  upon 
the  sand.  They  kiss  his  marble  cheek,  and  the  little 
group  bend  over  him  and  weep  trickling  tears,  like 
statues  at  a  fountain.  I  hear  the  mother  say — ''  Oh, 
but  for  these,  would  I    had    died  for    thee,  my  son  \  ^ 


A    Vision  of  Life  and  its  Meaning.     219 

From  the  far  height  I  hear  the  tone  of  a  bell  : — is  it  on 
earth  or  in  heaven  ?  Is  it  a  sad  bell  or  a  glad  bell  ? 
I  know  not  ;  but  I  see  that  after  they  have  hollowed  a 
little  grave,  and  deposited  their  treasure,  and  knelt  upon 
it  and  said,  ''  Thy  will,  not  mine,"  the  cloud  is  drunk 
up  by  the  unseen  spirits  of  the  air,  and  away,  on  the 
pinnacle  of  the  golden  mountains,  stands  a  little  form 
with  its  fingers  full  of  roses,  beckoning !  There  i:>  a 
stir  in  the  golden  clouds  above  him,  and  he  is  received 
up  out  of  their  sight. 

Years  come  and  go  till  the  little  ones  have  become 
men  and  women.  The  father's  beard  and  the  father's 
hair,  so  black  and  heavy  at  first,  have  become  thin  and 
white.  He  leans  upon  his  staff,  and  totters  manfully 
on.  Son  and  daughter  press  around  the  mother  and 
sustain  her  feeble  form.  An  atmosphere  of  love  en- 
velops them  all.  And  so  they  rise  higher  and  still 
higher,  until,  in  other  than  earthly  light,  they  stand 
glorified  upon  one  of  the  golden  summits.  They  stand 
upon  the  mount  of  vision,  earth  below  and  heaven  above 
them.  They  gaze  down  upon  the  long  and  weary  patH 
they  have  trodden,  and  see  that  their  life  has  been  oni 
long  process  of  education  and  purification.  That  whicl\ 
was  but  a  path  of  thorns  in  the  passage  is  changed  to  a 
pavement  of  gold  in  the  retrospect.  Flying  over  th& 
shining  track,  they  see  the  Angel  of  God's  Providence;, 
and  now  they  know,  what  once  they  could  not  wholly 
see,  that  the  darkness  which  had  so  often  passed  over 


220  Titcomb's  Letters. 

them  as  they  journeyed  was  but  the  shadow  of  his 
blessed  wings.  But  there  comes  a  sound  of  chariots 
and  horses  ;  the  children  press  up  to  bid  them  adieu, 
the  mountains  grow  radiant  with  a  descending  hght  ;  a 
Uttle  voice,  never  forgotten,  breaks  through  the  purphng 
(silence  Hke  an  arrow  of  silver ;  and  at  the  sweet  word 
*'  come,"  they  are  withdrawn  into  the  opening  glory. 

That,  my  friends,  is  my  vision.  Is  it  all  fancy  ?  Is 
it  all  imagination  ?  Is  it  all  poetry  ?  Have  you  an 
idea  that  fancy,  or  imagination,  or  poetry  can  do  justice 
to  the  grandeur,  beauty,  and  essential  glory  of  a  true 
life  ?  I  have  only  felt,  in  painting  it,  how  utterly  poor 
I  am  in  the  endeavor  to  express  my  conception  of  the 
highest  life  of  man  and  woman,  by  the  use  of  language. 
That  little  creed  of  Mrs.  Browning,  uttered  impulsively, 
in  a  flash  of  inspired  conviction,  has  a  world  of  meaning 
in  it  that  the  slow  soul  does  not  perceive.  "  I  do  believe 
in  God  and  love,"  said  the  sweet  songstress  ;  and  so  do 
I.  With  God  and  love  in  human  life,  it  becomes  essen- 
tially a  noble  and  beautiful  thing.  To  live  a  life  thus 
informed  is  a  peerless  privilege — no  matter  at  what 
cost  of  transient  pain  or  unremitting  toil.  It  is  a  thing 
above  professions  and  callings  and  creeds.  It  is  a  thing 
which  brings  to  its  nourishment  all  good,  and  appropri- 
ates to  its  development  of  power  all  evil.  It  is  the 
greatest  and  best  thing  under  the  whole  heaven.  Place 
cannot  enhance  its  honor  ;  wealth  cannot  add  to  its 
value.     It  is  the  highest  thing.     Its  course  lies  through 


A    Vision  of  Life  and  its  Meani^ig.     221 

true  manhood  and  womanhood,  through  true  father- 
hood and  motherhood,  through  true  friendship  and 
relationships  of  all  legitimate  and  natural  sorts  whatso- 
ever. It  lies  through  sorrow  and  pain  and  poverty,  and 
ail  earthly  discipline.  It  lies  through  unswerving  truth 
to  God  and  man.  It  lies  through  patient,  self-denying 
heroism.  It  lies  through  all  heaven-prescribed  and 
conscientious  duty,  and  it  leads  as  straight  to  heaven's 
brightest  gate,  as  the  track  of  a  sunbeam  to  the  bosom 
Of'  a  flower. 

As  I  look  around  me,  and  see  how  poor,  how  frivo- 
lous, how  weak  and  drivelling  a  thing  life  is,  as  it  is 
lived  by  the  mass  of  those  who  are  married,  I  confess 
that  I  am  filled  with  wonder  and  with  pity.  Marriage  is 
too  much  a  convention, — its  habits  and  duties  are  too 
much  conventional.  That  it  is  only  to  be  made  some- 
thing better  by  a  change  in  the  general  estimate  and 
idea  of  life,  I  have  said  in  previous  letters.  That  a  man 
and  woman  who  live  to  eat,  and  dress,  and  make 
mon'iy  ;  whose  ends  of  life  are  answered  in  the  satisfac- 
tion of  appetite  and  ambition,  and  a  thirst  for  gold  and 
equipage  and  position,  should  marry  for  a  higher  motive 
than  fancy  and  convenience,  is  not  to  be  expected.  The 
structure,  therefore,  of  a  true  married  life,  must  be  laid 
upon  the  basis  of  a  true  individual  life.  When  men  and 
women  have  conceived  and  accepted  the  idea  that  all 
good  in  earth  and  heaven  is  intended  to  minister  directly 
and  indirectly  to  individual  growth,  and  that  that  which 


222  Titcomb' s  Letters. 

we  call  evil — toil,  poverty,  sorrow,  pain,  and  temptation 
to  sin— is  intended  for  the  development  of  power  and 
the  discipline  of  passion  ;  when  they  see  that  life  tends 
upwards,  and  is  only  a  preparation  for  another  sphere 
and  a  better,  and  that  all  that  surrounds  them  is  perish- 
able— food  and  shelter  and  ministry  by  the  way — then 
they  can  have  a  conception  of  what  true  marriage  is. 
The  relation  is  illuminated  with  its  full  significance  only 
by  this  true  idea  of  individual  life.  The  masculine  and 
feminine  nature  come  together  for  mutual  stimulus  and 
mutual  feeding.  All  that  is  good  in  each  becomes  the 
property  of  the  other,  and  all  that  is  bad  in  each  is 
neutralized  by  the  other.  Like  the  acid  and  the  alkali, 
when  brought  together,  their  united  life  becomes  a 
beaded  draught,  bland  as  the  juice  of  nectarines,  and  fit 
to  sparkle  on  the  lips  of  an  angel. 

And  now,  my  friends,  farewell !  Life  is  before  you, — 
not  earthly  life  alone,  but  life — a  thread  running  inter- 
minably through  the  warp  of  eternity ;  and  while  I 
wish  YOU  all  manly  and  womanly  joy,  and  all  healthful 
delight,  I  do  not  wish  that  no  pain  come  on  you,  no 
care  oppress  you,  no  toil  w^eary  you,  no  sorrow  swim  in 
your  eyes,  no  temptations  beset  you  ;  but  I  wish  that 
you  may  bear  what  God  puts  upon  your  shoulders,  and 
bear  it  well.  I  wish  that  it  may  not  be  necessary  to 
chasten  you  overmuch  ;  but  you  can  hardly  grow  strong 
without  trouble,  or  sympathetic  without  sorrow.  It  was 
necessary    that    the    only    true    human    life    ever   li^cd 


A    Vision  of  Life  and  its  Meaning.     223 

should  be  made  "perfect  through  suffering;  and  it  is 
strange  presumption  for  you  to  think  that  you  can  be 
made  perfect  without  it.  I  wish  you  many  years  upon 
the  earth — as  miauy  as  will  minister  to  your  growth  and 
happiness — for  life  is  a  sweet  as  well  as  a  great  and 
wonderful  thing.  I  wish  you  a  family  of  precious 
children  to  fill  your  homes  with  music,  and  enrich  your 
hearts  with  love.  And  when,  in  the  evening  of  life,  the 
golden  clouds  rest  sweetly  and  invitingly  upon  the 
golden  mountains,  and  the  light  of  heaven  streams 
down  through  the  gathering  mists  of  death,  I  wish  you 
a  peaceful  and  abundant  entrance  into  that  world  of 
blessedness,  where  the  great  riddle  of  life,  whose  mean- 
ing I  can  only  hint  at,  will  be  unfolded  to  you  in  the 
quick  consciousness  of  a  soul  redeemed  and  purified. 


THE    END. 


Dr.  J. G.  Hollands  Works 


Thf  extraordinary  popularity  of  Dr.  HoUa'ruV s  ivorks  shozi'S 
no  falling  off  from  year  to  year.  Already  the  sale  of 
his  books  has  reached  the  enormous  total  of  abotit  three- 
quarters  of  a  million  copies^  and  his  audience  is  con- 
stantly widening.  His  appeal  is  to  the  universal  popular 
heart. 


COMPLETE  WORKS.  i6  vols.,  small  i2mo,  in  a 
box,  cloth,  $20.00  ;  half  calf,  $44.00  ;  half  morocco, 
gilt  top,  $46,00.     See  next  page  for  single  volumes. 

ILLUSTRATED  EDITION.  14  vols,  (omitting 
"  Every-Day  Topics"),  i2mo,  cloth,  $20.00.  Sold 
only  in  sets. 

COMPLETE  POETICAL  WRITINGS.  In  one  vol., 
with  Illustrations  by  C.  S.  Reinhart,  C.  C,  Gris- 
woLD,  and  Mary  Halleck  Foote,  and  Portrait  by 
Wyatt  Eaton.  8vo,  cloth,  $3.50;  half  calf,  extra, 
$7.50;    full  Turkey  morocco,  $9.00. 

ILLUSTRATED  LIBRARY  OF  FAVORITE 
SONG.  Edited  by  Dr.  Holland  A  collection  of 
the  most  popular  and  best-known  poems.  With 
125  Illustrations.     8vo,  cloth,  $5.00;  half  calf  S7.50, 


DR.    IIOLLAXD'S    WORKS. 


''Dr.  IIplla)id  will  ahcays  find  a  congenial  audience  in  the 
homes  of  culture  and  refinement.  He  does  not  affect  the  play 
of  the  darker  and  fiercer  passions,  but  delights  in  the  siveet 
images  that  cluster  around  the  domestic  hearth.  He  cherishes 
a  strong  fellow-feeling  with  the  pure  and  tranquil  life  in  the 
modest  social  circles  of  the  American  people.,  and  has  thus  won 
his  ivay  to  the  companionship  of  many  friendly  hearts." 

— X.  Y.  Tribune. 


POEMS. 


Macb,  Small  izzno,  $1.25. 


BITTER-SWEET. 

"  It  is  a  suggestive  and  original  poem.  Vigor  and  force  and  imagi- 
native beauty  are  to  be  found  in  it.'" — Athenceum. 

"  A  dramatic  poem  which  is  characteristically  American,  .showing  a 
great  command  of  versification  and  purity  of  style.  This  poem  shows 
that  Dr.  Holland  is  a  man  of  genius." — Boston  Pusl. 

KATHRINA. 
"It  is  a  genuine  outgrowth  of  the  authors  poetic  instincts  and 
moral  convictions.  It  is  sweet  with  purity  and  noble  with  aspiration. 
It  is  thoughtful  and  earnest  and  most  sincere.  Its  reverence  for 
woman  is  religious.  Dr.  Holland  will  be  numbered  with  Hav.thornc 
as  one  who  saw  the  soul  of  beauty  under  the  sordid  guise  of  New 
England  life  and  character." — Independent. 

MISTRESS  OF  THE   MANSE, 
"  Dr.  Holland's  writings  touch  a  responsive  chord  in  the  heart  of  the 
reader.     There  is  a  great  deal  of  human   nature  in  what  he  says. 
Hence  the  popularity  of  Dr.  Holland's  productions.     The  '  Mistress  of 
the  Manse '  is  a  charming  story,  admirably  told  in  verse." 

— Albany  Ar^^us. 

THE  PURITAN'S  GUEST,  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

"  If  we  mistake  not,  our  readers  will  recognize  with  us  the  genius  of 
a  true  poet,  with  a  rare  wealth  of  poetic  sympathies,  profound  obser- 
vation of  the  workings  of  human  passion,  and  the  creative  power  to 
clothe  his  conception  m  expressive  forms.  " — New  York  Tribune. 


DR.    HOLLAND'S    WORK:^. 


ESSAYS. 


Macb,  Sniall  iziuo,  $1.25. 

TITCOMB'S  LETTERS  TO  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 
"  We  have  never  read  a  work  which  better  inculcates  the  several 
duties  and  responsibilities  of  young  men  and  women,  married  or 
single.  The  strong  common  sense  which  pervades  them,  the  frank 
and  manly  utterance  of  wholesome  truths  in  pointed  and  beautiful 
language,  and  the  genial  sympathy  which  the  author  has  for  those 
whom  he  addresses,  cannot  fail  to  commend  the  work  to  general 
favor."— London  Literary  Gazette. 

GOLD    FOIL    HAMMERED    FROM    POPULAR    PROVERBS. 

"Sensible  and  instructive,  and  deser\-es  to  be  read  and  pondered  by 
old  and  young." — Boston  Advertiser. 

"  Full  of  good  sense  and  written  in  good,  sound  English.  They  are 
belter  than  the  hannnered  foil — they  are  the  \irgin  metal,  pure, 
precious,  and  solid." — Providence y<;«;;ar/. 

LESSONS  IN  LIFE. 
"Wisdom  admirably  put.     We  lind  in  the  pages  of  this  new  venture 
so  many  healthy  ma.xims  and  so  much  excellent  advice,  that  we  hope 
the  volume  will  spread  itself  farther  and  wider  than  any  of  its  prede- 
cessors."— Atlantic  MonfJily. 

CONCERNING  THE  JONES  FAMILY. 
"Dr.  Holland's  Jones  family  includes  in  its  members  many  diverse 
characters,  and  his  remarks  upon  them  are  a  continuation  of  his  home- 
like and  natural  philosophy  which  has  been  so  highly  appreciated." 

— San  Francisco  A/ta-Cali/'ornia. 

PLAIN  TALKS  ON  FAMILIAR  SUBJECTS. 

"  His  views  are  so  true,  so  indisputable,  so  often  disregardeil  in  the 
practices  of  this  vain  world,  that  we  can  commend  them  as  a  consum- 
mate mi.\ture  of  the  useful  with  the  agreeable." — Boston  Recorder. 

EVERY-DAY  TOPICS— First  Series,  Second  Series. 
"  The  volumes  include  short  essays  on  politics,  religion,  temperance, 
education,  literature,  woman's  sufiVage,  health,  dress,  amusements, 
and,  indeed,  nearly  every  subject  that  could  engage  a  magazine  editor's 
attention,  all  treated  in  an  entertaining  style  and  from  a  high  moral 
standpoint." — Detroit  yervs. 


DR.    HOLLAND'S    WORKS. 


NOVELS. 


Macb,  Small  ismo,  $1.25, 

SEVENOAKS. 

"  One  of  the  best  of  Dr.  Holland's  novels.  It  tells  in  a  graphic  and 
highly  moral  manner  of  the  apparent  success  and  final  downfall  of  the 
sleek  and  wily  villain,  Belcher,  the  owner  of  Sevenoaks.  It  is  written 
with  spirit,  and  has  bits  of  description  and  character  painting,  which, 
with  a  plausible  plot,  holds  the  reader's  attention." 

— Philadelphia  Press. 

ARTHUR  BONNICASTLE. 

"  In  '  Arthur  Bonnicastle,'  as  all  know,  there  is  an  autobiographical 
element,  for  which,  if  for  nothing  else,  it  will  always  be  especially 
cherished  by  Dr.  Holland's  admirers."— Buffalo  Courier. 

"  The  pleasant  ingenuity  of  tone  and  faultlessness  of  moral  which 
characterize  the  '  Bay-Path  '  equally  distinguish  'Arthur  Bonnicastle.' 
The  story  is  of  American  college  life." 

— Milwaukee  Evening  IViscottsin. 

NICHOLAS  MINTURN. 

"  No  more  wholesome  and  helpful  reading  for  most  minds  can  be 
found  in  the  literature  of  this  generation  than  Dr.  Holland's  books. 
The  young  man  or  woman  who  does  not  rise  from  '  Arthur  Bonni- 
castle '  or  '  Nicholas  Minturn '  stimulated  to  hopeful  effort  is  cither 
inconceivably  stupid  or  irreclaimably  bad." — New  London  Telegram. 

BAY-PATH. 

"Beyond  doubt  one  of  the  most  characteristic,  deeply  interesting, 
and  powerfully-written  American  novels  which  we  ha-^e  ever  read." 

— Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

"  It  portrays,  in  vividly,  truthfully  painted  colors,  the  struggles  of  a 
heroic  spirit  against  the  environments  of  the  earliest  colonial  days  of 
Massach«setts."— St.  Paul  Dispatch. 

MISS  GILBERT'S  CAREER. 

" '  Miss  Gilbert's  Career '  contains  the  amusing  but  instructive 
account  of  the  search  of  a  young  authoress  for  a  publisher  and  how, 
when  one  was  found,  he  advertised  her  book — amusing,  we  mean,  to 
all  but  publishers." — Worcester  Gazette. 

*-:(^ Sevenoaks  and  Arthur  Bonnicastle  arc  also  issued  in  the  Yellow 
Paper  Scries,  paper  covers,  50  cents  each. 


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